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Book \\U l 2, . 
Copyright N °.Toj 

COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 













PANDORA LA CROIX 



J 

PANDORA La CROIX 


A NOVEL 


BY 

GENE WRIGHT 



PHILADELPHIA 6- LONDON 
J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY 


1924 




.(aM* 2 - 

'"fk- 


COPYRIGHT, 1924, BY J. B. L1PPINCOTT COMPANY 


PRINTED BY J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY 
AT THE WASHINGTON SQUARE PRESS 
PHILADELPHIA, U. S. A. 


Mai to 1924 

»• • • 

© Cl A 7 0 320 6 


/ W0 


DEDICATED TO 

NELL CRAIG 

MY GENTLEST CRITIC 


I 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER PAGE 

PART ONE 

I. The Naiad and the Satyr . n 

II. G’RILLA. 22 

III. Enter the Sphinx. 33 

IV. Through Reefs of Coral. 44 

V. The Newspaper Clipping. 52 

PART TWO 

I. The Woman in the Case. 63 

II. When the Ring Arrived. 75 

III. The Fall of an Idol. 90 

IV. The Court Martial. 103 

V. The Escape. 117 

PART THREE 

I. The Whim of an Eccentric. 121 

II. The Rift in the Lute. 136 

III. The Magdalen Accused. 147 

IV. Beside Still Waters. 167 

V. The Radiogram. 184 

VI. With the Dawn. 199 

PART FOUR 

I. The Man from Manila. 217 

II. Moonlight Madness. 230 

III. Puffets of Fate. 241 

PART FIVE 

I. The House of Forbidden Delights. 255 

II. Soldiers Three. 271 

III. The Moment Supreme. 283 

IV. Epilogue. 3 01 


























PART ONE 


Oh Thou, who Man of baser Earth 
didst make, 

And en’n with Paradise devise the 
Snake: 

For all the sin wherewith the 
Face of Man 

Is blacken'd — Man's forgiveness 
give—and takel 


Omar Khayyam 














pandora Lacroix 


CHAPTER I 

THE NAIAD AND THE SATYR 

Like a naiad Pan came out of the swirl of waters 
and perched upon the rock. Her one-piece slip of a 
dress reached just below her knees, clinging close to 
her and disclosing every lineament of her lithe and 
supple body. She perched there, shaking the water 
from her hair, and laughed gaily as a huge incoming 
wave shot its spray over her as if the amorous sea 
wished again to clutch her in its embrace. She bounded 
to her feet, and scampered off the rock and through 
the wild surf that seemed to enter into a merry game 
of tag, seeking to catch her before she could reach 
the rude bamboo shack that served as a studio for her 
father and a ludicrous apology for a home. 

From earth and water, Vulcan, the crookbacked 
shaped a malignant scourge for men, giving it the 
lovely beauty of a maiden. In a prankish humor, mis¬ 
chievous Aphrodite, as a joke on humans, endowed 
this Thing of mud with a tricksey mind and shameless 
manners, the power over painful desire and for break¬ 
ing hearts. She sent this Pandora forth to prey on 
virtue with an inextricable snare of golden chains and, 
like a tribute from the bottomless pit, a breath that 
distilled from a kiss a soul-quelling poison that made 
mankind submit its reason to her lure. 


ii 


12 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


Many centuries later either a god-child and name¬ 
sake, or one of the many incarnations of old Vulcan’s 
vampire herself, was spewed up out of the coral-ribbed 
maw of a South Sea island. A dissolute French artist, 
absinthe sodden and drug enslaved, who had sought 
oblivion and lurid vistas in the South Seas, and a half' 
breed Marquesan woman were the progenitors of this 
half-naked sprite, mascot of a low cafe, whose amor¬ 
ous kisses were as commercial as the liquid poison that 
went over its bar. Rakehells, bullies of the port, fought 
for her even as Kipling’s uncouth sailors pommelled 
and slashed at each other for the smiles of “ Anne of 
Austria ” the fickle light o’ love of the water’s side. 
This was Pan—Pandora La Croix. 

When she entered the hut she saw her father sitting 
on a broken-down couch, his hair dishevelled, unshaven, 
hollow eyed, and sunken cheeked. His feet were 
bare, his trousers and smock a mass of filth. With his 
face twisting from one hideous contortion to another, 
he was muttering unintelligible sounds over a grain or 
two of cocaine that he was sifting on the back of a 
shaking hand. She was trying to imitate his grimaces 
when she caught sight of her mother, fat and bestial, 
like a huge billiken, half sitting, half sprawled on the 
floor, her head resting upon one end of the couch. 
She was fast asleep and snoring loudly, a myriad of 
flies crawling and leap-frogging over her face, with 
now and then an adventurous one that darted in or out 
of her gaping mouth. She had evidently been eating, 
for her face and fingers were bedaubed with poi, and 


THE NAIAD AND THE SATYR 


i3 


a half-famished cat, with its head buried in the depths 
of an earthen bowl that rested in her lap, was raven¬ 
ously devouring the remains of the meal. 

Pan’s brows puckered into a perplexed frown. Her 
estimation of a woman’s value was one of the flesh 
alone—beauty, soft, clinging arms, passionate dancing 
eyes that spat forth hell or heaven at will, a supple 
nerve-wracking body that quickened the senses of men 
into mad insatiate desire, changed human brutes into 
supplicating lovers, and amorous Lotharios into cursing 
furies as one aroused anticipation, seemingly consented 
and then, with an exultant laugh, was away like a flash 
to hide in the shadows of jasmine and coco palms. 
Was not that all that there was of joy in life for a girl! 
Had she not known this since she was ten years old. 
It was all— all! This and an hour’s revel in the 
languorous waters of her beloved lagoon. 

If this was so, why had this cochon, this sweating 
pig of a woman, so long encumbered her father’s hut? 
She appraisingly regarded him. If he would comb his 
hair, cut his whiskers, and wash his face—" hein zar 
would be a dam’ fin’ feller, heem, mon pere! ” There 
would be many girls, lithe limbed and full of fire, 
who would give that which had long since been burnt 
out of the gluttonous mountain of flesh she called her 
mother. Maybe the hut would be cleaned, too. It 
would no longer smell of sour poi and putrid fish. 
It would cease to be a litter of filthy things stewing 
under a sun-beaten sheet iron roof. It would be a 
place that she would like to come to. Her father would 


14 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


have much fun. Now he had only his absinthe and 
“ ze white powdair zat he stick in hees nose zat mak’ 
heem happee.” She saw to that—always. It was 
part compensation for her services in the dive of Tom, 
the Chinaman. There was seldom balance due, more 
often still a debt. The celestial saw to that — always, 
and Pierre La Croix, drinking and sniffing, daubing 
flaming crimson, yellows, and purples on unsaleable 
canvases, never questioned as to the means. 

With a shrug of her shoulders her unsolvable prob¬ 
lem was unceremoniously chucked into oblivion. She 
tiptoed to a little shelf, then half turned, and gave 
an apprehensive glance toward her father. He was 
still interested in his cocaine, and she slyly reached for 
a little image, a horned satyr—half man, half goat. 
Thorough pagan, she had always thought it a thing 
of life, a talisman of luck, a “ little devil ” whose ever¬ 
lasting smirking smile ever invited her whispered 
confidences and to whom she could brag of sinful con¬ 
quests. The consuming desire to always have it with 
her as a protection against “ bigger devils ” had ever 
been vigorously tabooed by her father in extravagant 
Parisian profanity. Did she not know that it was a 
work of art—a masterpiece —and did a worthless fille 
like her know anything about art? Did she not know 
that it was a sacrilege for her even to look at it? Was 
it not all that he had saved when his villainous creditors 
had seized his beautiful chateau, all that he had to 
remind him of his dear Paris, of the time when he had 
not been the father of such a little fool? To all of 


THE NAIAD AND THE SATYR 15 

which she had bobbed her head and patiently waited. 
Now her chance had come, but scarce was it in her 
hand when a fellow thing of clay, a bust of Voltaire, 
came crashing to the floor. She sprang from the 
shelf, switching the satyr within the folds of her 
dress, but the smash of old Voltaire had aroused her 
mother into action and Pan and the cat flashed through 
the door at the same instant that the half-emptied bowl 
of poi smashed and splattered against the door frame. 

She came upon a group of hovels in a paradise of 
coco palms and pandanus. They were picturesque even 
in their dilapidation, some standing on stilts and wob¬ 
bling creakingly back and forth in the merest breeze, 
others on the ground tipsily leaning each to the other 
as if seeking support against the next tornado com¬ 
pleting the havoc of the last, and puffing them like 
straws across the narrow strip of beach and into 
the lagoon. 

Clucking hens, goats, a sow with a litter of pigs 
edged mechanically out of her way. Half-starved 
dogs left off the savage gnawing of flea-infested rumps 
to growl a vicious warning, yet slinking cowardly back 
just out of reach of the girl who strode along so sus¬ 
piciously unafraid. Chattering children, complexions 
black to lemon yellow, some with a mere rag of clothes, 
others as naked as the fish in the sea, came running 
helter skelter in a ferment of curiosity over the thing 
that she held in her hand. She held it up for 
their inspection. 

“ Zis ees a good little devil,” she told them. “ An’ 


i6 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


yo’ know what heem say? Zat eet ees ver’ nice to be 
bad, an’ I believe heem, me.” 

Lazy males, the lords of the huts, who were smok¬ 
ing, gaming, or enjoying a siesta in the shade of a tree, 
caught sight of her and started to approach, but slunk 
back as the mothers came rushing out with angry 
remonstrances against the impudent invasion by this 
troublesome lure of their men. The children scampered 
into a half score of hiding places from which they 
peeked out like rabbits from their holes, while Pan 
danced tauntingly before the women. 

“ Yo’ are jealous, yes?” she giggled in triumph. 
“Poof! I laugh, me, I do! Yo’ theenk I can’t 
get ’em eef I am such a crazee fool? Huh! I jus’ 

weegle my fingair so, an’ so, an’ so-” Her little 

finger snapped back and forth like a miniature piston. 
“ I say, come peegie—peegie come wiz me—poof! Eet 
ees so ver’ easy eet mak’ me laugh! ” 

With a swish of her skirts she whirled about and 
danced along the beach, singing an exhortation to 
her satyr. 

“ Little devil, love of mine! Be ver’ good to yo’, 
Pan! Breeng me to zat Toni, an’ mak’ hees woman 
ver’ mad, so I can laugh an’ mak’ me a face at her! ” 
She found him at his boat. He was mending a 
net and her eyes danced mischievously as she saw his 
frightened glance in the direction of his hut. To her 
it was a waggish adventure quite to her liking, but for 
him quite another thing. Toni was big, broad chested, 
muscular of leg and loin, and quite the strutting peacock 



THE NAIAD AND THE SATYR 


17 


among the island’s dark-eyed houris, but a sorry rooster 
on his own dunghill, for his woman was keen of eye 
and had a tongue as sharp and deadly as a razor blade. 
The cafe, or a spot where only the moon laughed over 
them, where there was no sound but the swish of the 
sea, the call of a night bird, or the clicking claws of a 
marauding cocoanut crab, was quite the acceptable 
locale for a tete-a-tete with Pan, hut to have her visit 
him in the close vicinity of his own vine and fig tree 
was too much of a temptation of Providence for even 
the hair-brained Toni. 

Pan sat down beside him, and cuddled close. “ Yo’ 
ees ver’ glad zat I am here, eh, my Toni? ” she cooed. 

He did not look up but edged away from her, bend¬ 
ing his head over his work, and a low mutter of unin¬ 
telligible sounds was all that she got in reply. With 
a little slide, her head again rested on his shoulder. 
She sighed in deep contentment—little ecstatic “ ah’s ” 
and “ oh’s ”—and covertly watched him as he vainly 
endeavored to draw up and tie a broken cord in the net. 

“ Eet ees ver’ nice zat yo’ are so glad! ” she ex¬ 
claimed with a little giggle of delight. 

His only reply was an incoherent grunt, another 
edging away, and another recovery of distance upon 
her part. 

Then all her power of alluring coquetry came into 
play. She arranged her dress so that no contour of 
her desire-tickling body would lose an iota of its tanta¬ 
lizing attraction; and shapely leg and arm were so 
disposed as to contribute their full share to the artistic 

2 


i8 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


ensemble. She made each move deliberately, carefully 
noted the effect, and nodded her head in critical 
approval. With each move she looked at him with a 
demure expression, yet stifling with difficulty her wild 
desire to shriek with laughter. 

“ Look at me! ” she commanded. 

He sensed her waggish scheme to cause a family 
war, and knew that the slightest remonstrance would 
precipitate the catastrophe. His face was deluged with 
sweat. His tongue completely lacked its usual power 
to wag, and he could feel little Arctic chills playing 
snap the whip from one end of his spine to the other. 

“ Toni, yo’ mus’ look at me! ” 

This time her tone was peremptory. He groaned, 
inwardly praying to every god of his pagan island 
to deliver him from the girl who was bedeviling him. 
But the gods don’t answer prayers on short notice, so 
there was nothing else to do but to look. He did so, 
furtively, rolling his eyes desperately toward the spot 
from which he expected, each awful second, the jezabel 
of his bosom to burst forth. 

“ Some other time, some other place, mebbe I see 
you,” he sputtered. “ I am busy an’-” 

" Oui! Oui! Yo’ are bizee wiz me! ” she retorted. 
“ ’Nother time, ’nother place eet ees not necessaire! 
Zis ees a fin’ place! Zis ees ze bes’ time! An’ now yo’ 
mus’ kees me!” 

She tilted her head back and pursed her lips. 

“No, no! Pleas’, pleas,’ my Pan!” he stuttered, 
almost hysterically. 

“ I yell, by dam’ I will! ” she raised her voice shrilly. 



THE NAIAD AND THE SATYR 


19 


In a great terror he made a quick peck at her lips 
and, with her head wagging disgustedly from side to 
side, she contemplated him in perky indignation. 

“ Yo’ theenk yo’ are a chicken, an’ me I am jus’ 
a bug zat you ketch! ” she angrily exclaimed. “ Kees 
me more long zan zat! ” 

Before he could prevent it her arms were around 
his neck, and her lips glued tight to his. He snivelled 
in his misery, the tears, streaking down, mingled with 
the sweat, and coursed over the end of his nose like an 
old-fashioned water spout. 

Then came the tornado, ushered in by a feminine 
shriek with the reverberation of an Indian war-whoop. 
Both scrambled to their feet, and Pan, leaning against 
the gunwale of the boat, burst into a peal of joyous 
laughter, frantically kissing her “ little devil ” for giv¬ 
ing her her wish. Toni’s woman was mad. Screaming 
the most obscene invectives at her lord and master, she 
opened up hostilities by hurling a heavy earthen bowl 
that but missed his head by the breadth of a hair. Like 
Adam of old who proclaimed the woman the tempter, 
he outstretched his arms with the tearful declaration: 
“ My Mimi, she try to steal your Toni! ” 

But Mimi wasn’t to be conciliated, nor could he 
divert her plan of attack to Pan. He was to be attended 
to first, and the job was to be a thorough one. She 
darted at him like a wild cat with claws extended, 
while he dodged and circled around her with a contin¬ 
uous flow of hysterical appeals. Then some old Pagan 
god played a joke on him, or perhaps it was Pan’s 


20 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


“ little devil/’ for his feet became entangled in the net 
and he sprawled into it head first. He rolled over and 
over in a desperate attempt to get on his feet, and only 
succeeded in enmeshing himself the more. The stout 
cords held him with the tenacity of a devil-fish, and so 
completely enveloped him that he quite resembled a bale 
for shipment that only required the tag. 

With a yell of triumph, Mimi seized a stick of 
driftwood and leapt at him, bringing it down with 
furious whacks upon any part of his anatomy that 
might be uppermost for the moment. He wiggled, 
cursed, and begged alternately, as he frantically tore 
at the net, she madly dancing around him, her stick 
fairly whistling as it cut through the air. Finally he 
succeeded in tearing away the mesh that seemed to 
have supernatural consciousness as an ally of his better 
half. Wildly leaping away, he cleared the boat at a 
bound and ran, slipping and stumbling over the rocks, 
nor did he stop until he had reached old Tahiti Tom’s 
place at the further end of the beach. 

“ Me, I theenk zis fat ol’ Mimi, she jus’ bus’ wiz 
love for her Toni! ” Pan solemnly informed her 
^ little devil.” 

The frenzied woman turned upon her with the 
furious epithet, “ You spawn of a shark! ” 

But the words were scarce out of her mouth before 
Pan had dropped her satyr near the boat and sprang 
upon her. Neither heeded the steep bank and Pan’s 
assault carried them down, rolling and tumbling, pom¬ 
melling and clawing, until they landed into the lagoon 


THE NAIAD AND THE SATYR 21 

with a splash. Here the fight continued, the antagon¬ 
ists now in view, now out of sight, the water heaving 
and foaming as if two pugnacious fish were having a 
battle to the death. A crowd of men, women, and 
children, who had been attracted to the spot and egged 
on the contestants from the beginning, watched pro¬ 
ceedings breathlessly. When Pan came triumphantly 
out of the water, they drew back out of her way. She 
gave two or three threatening little jumps towards them 
and laughed gleefully as they fell over each other in a 
wild scramble for safety. Then she picked up her satyr. 

“ Yo’ an’ me, we have ze gran’ time! ” she exclaimed 
with a joyous laugh. 

Singing and dancing, she disappeared over the 
rocks just as Mimi, clothes in tatters, and puffing and 
blowing, pulled herself painfully out of the water. 


CHAPTER II 
g’rilla 

Tahiti Tom was a Chinaman, old and wrinkled, 
his place a hell of iniquity, his patrons the scum of the 
earth. A large “ L ’’-shaped room, its walls and ceiling 
of rough boards festooned with the cobwebs of many 
years, with a scattering of rudely constructed tables, 
benches and chairs, and a makeshift bar filled with 
demijohns, jugs and kegs of every high-powered liquid 
under the sun, was the principal part of the establish¬ 
ment. Off the smaller part of the “ L ” was a room 
with several bunks and stalls, which served as the 
sleeping quarters of the “ hotel ” and for such other 
uses as even the unmoral island relegated to privacy. 
A third room, a mere cubby, contained an altar with 
its squatting joss before which was the ever smoking, 
stinking incense, and before whom Tom confessed his 
sins, piously praying for celestial blessings while acting 
asi His Satanic Majesty’s embassador plenipotentiary 
to the island in the commercial part of his abomi¬ 
nable rookery. 

A Magyar, super-ugly specimen of ferocious cut¬ 
throat, whose fangs, ever grinning, simian like, dis¬ 
guised the fact that his chest was the tomb of the 
heart of a toad, slid the liquor across the bar to a duo 
of frowsy barmaids, one of whom boasted of direct 
lineage to old French nobility, and a string of lovers 
that began with a spend-thrift prince and finished with 
22 


G’RILLA 


23 


the before-mentioned Magyar—an amour of an Alex¬ 
andria brothel. The other, who aped the manners 
of a duchess, proclaimed herself a former lady in 
waiting of a Balkan court. Her “ sensuous beauty ” 
had fired the blood of an amorous and senile old king 
and he had installed her in a palatial chateau in the 
Pyrenees with five times as many servants as the old 
reprobate allowed his own queen. She was very reti¬ 
cent as to just why fate had ultimately shot her into the 
cook’s galley of a bug-ridden copra schooner, and from 
there to the position of barmaid and mistress of the 
wrinkled old Chinaman. Both women were monu¬ 
mental liars, but even degradation of the nth degree 
is entitled to its romance, entitled to cover the sordid 
smudge of a “ what was ” with beautiful colors, even 
as untempted Chastity builds its castles of air, its “ what 
will be’s ” that a draught from the Inferno may blow 
into Nothingness. 

Tahiti Tom’s was always filled with a boisterous 
horde who, in a flood of ribald billingsgate, argued 
and caroused in the reek of tobacco smoke and rum. 
Bloody brawls were a common occurrence, murder a 
diversion that came with the mere passing of the lie 
or a foul epithet spat through the teeth of some rum- 
crazed ruffian. Life was cheap, frightfully cheap, 
and Death but a dancing clown who amused the rabble. 
There were coast-runners and traders—keen wizards 
of bartering—just back from long cruises among the 
ten thousand islands that dot the southern seas. These 
conscienceless Blackbeards, rakehells all, with disease 


24 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


and death ever following in the wake of their hulks, 
spun wild yarns of beastly revels among barbarians, of 
the looting of villages, of stolen native girls that had 
been sported for a day or so, and then chucked over 
the schooner’s side to silence their ceaseless whine. 
Groups of lithe fishers of shell, smelling like rotten fish, 
bragged of impossible battles underseas with the tiger 
fish or the eight armed demon lurking in the murk 
of a coral cave. 

Beachcombers, derelicts of civilization, troublesome 
outcasts doomed to perpetual exile by families of noble 
blood, drowned their everlasting loneliness in rotgut, 
their remittances from home ever and always disap¬ 
pearing into the capacious maw of old Tom’s treasure 
chest. There were shifty-eyed fugitives from justice, 
petty thieves to murderers, slum gunmen to aristocrats, 
who disappeared into the undergrowth like frightened 
hares at every appearance of a steamer in the harbor, 
and did not return until the last whiff of smoke from 
the steamer’s stack had wafted away in the air of the 
distant horizon. 

Here and there a group of pearlers told of fabulous 
beds that yielded a priceless gem to every hundred 
shell, and cursed long and loudly over the superstition 
of native divers that stubbornly refused to enter the 
water until a brace of half-gutted sharks had been 
loosened so that other man-eaters, taking wisdom from 
the fate of their kind, would switch tails and clear out 
to less dangerous hunting grounds. 

A dozen painted women, dowdy bawds, mingled 


G’RILLA 


25 

with the men, patiently waiting—watching vulture like 
—until the drunkenness of the male brought blindness 
to the lack of feminine charm—rouge-plastered slat¬ 
terns who blasphemed their Creator at every other 
breath, and scraped into the muck of their mother 
tongue for foul quips, or a phrase suitably filthy to 
point a salacious story. There was music, too, at times; 
a wheezy accordion and the clink-clank of a banjo 
measured off the time whenever any of Tom’s clientele 
were sober enough to stagger through a dance, or 
tongues were of sufficient looseness to wiggle through 
the verses of an obscene song. 

The door opened, and a huge bulk of a man lurched 
in with the waddling gait of one who had spent a life¬ 
time of hurricanes on the rocking deck of a wind¬ 
jammer. His arrival caused a low murmur among the 
groups at the tables, some that were cursing protests 
against a nuisance, some that were exclamations of 
dismay as if an arch-enemy had popped into view. 
There were lusty greetings, obsequious fawning, while 
here and there one cringed down in his chair and 
bent low over his table as if fearful that the roving 
glance of the newcomer’s pig eyes would light upon 
him. One or two slunk stealthily into the smaller 
part of the “ L ” and out through the door, never 
drawing a full breath until it had closed behind them. 

“ Hell’ll be a poppin’ now that G’rilla Bagsley’s in 
port! ” a little trader whispered to the “ Duchess ” 
who was serving him. 


2 6 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


“ What’s th’ odds,” she laughed in reply, “ s’long’s 
he leaves his coin here? ” 

The nickname of “ G’rilla ” fitted him well. He 
liked it, answered to it, was proud of it. It was recog¬ 
nition of his brute strength, of a ferocity that instilled 
fear into the heart of man. He loved to make men 
afraid, to batter them down, to gloat over the snap 
of bone, and needed only the flimsiest excuse—ofttimes 
none at all. His flailing arms and huge hands, with 
muscles that were hair embedded and squirmed over 
each other like knotted snakes, reached even below his 
knees. His head, the shape of a bullet, a forehead that 
receded from the bulge of his brows, a negroid nose 
with twitching nostrils that seemed to be forever scent¬ 
ing something to prey upon, ears that were cauliflow- 
ered symbols of a hundred fistic encounters, and a 
hideous scar, a purple rut that zigzagged from between 
his eyes and across nose and cheek until it was lost in 
the stubby growth of hair that covered his jaws and 
bulging chin, surely entitled him to the cognomen even 
if it did grossly libel the monarch of apedom. 

He lumbered across the room, growling a coarse 
greeting here and there. With an unprintable epithet 
that at the same time dubbed her “ beautiful,” he seized 
the lady of “ French nobility ” around the waist and 
swung her clear of the floor, the tray of glasses that 
she was carrying crashing and splattering in all direc¬ 
tions. Holding her tightly clasped in his arms he 
rained loud smacks upon her lips. To further amuse 
himself he scrouged his beard back and forth in the 


G’RILLA 


27 


hollow of her neck while she squealed angry protests 
and vainly struggled to free herself. This sent the 
rabble off into gales of laughter, which was quite as 
much to flatter the bully as an evidence of their appre¬ 
ciation of the humor of the thing. Even the Magyar 
laughed, for his code was an easy one when men played 
Lothario with his woman, especially men with money 
in their pockets. Finally G’rilla released the girl, 
plumping her down upon one end of the bar with a 
force that made her grunt, prefixing her tearful whine 
that she had bitten her tongue. 

He crossed to a table, joining two men who had 
evidently been expecting him. The greetings were 
mere growls and, as a prelude to conversation, a bottle 
of rum was shoved towards him. He filled a tumbler 
to the brim and tossed it off at a gulp, then picked up 
a pack of greasy cards from the table and started to 
shuffle them mechanically, with an angry rumble that 
seemed to well up from the depths of his chest. Finally 
his mouth twitched into an evil sneer. 

“ Passed the Lark at Rikeuru,” he growled with 
an oath. 

The men leaned forward expectantly. 

“ Passed it! ” one of the men exclaimed. “ Didn’t 
you make Rikeuru? ” 

“What’n hell was th’ use?” he angrily retorted, 
“ the Sphinx was there, dam’ ’im! With that bastard 
in th’ offin’ a blarsted Kanaka ’ll look yer goods over as 
if they wasn’t worth a busted rivet in th’ door o’ hell; 
jus’ grin like a dam’ sissy cat. 4 Me wait for Cap’n 


28 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


Clay/ he’ll say, an’ toddle back t’ ’is ’ut like a bloomin’ 
king! Don’t yuh know that, yuh swabs? ” 

He gripped the bottle of rum, and half its contents 
disappeared down his throat. He choked and sput¬ 
tered, and gave his mouth a perfunctory wipe with his 
hairy paw. 

“ Look’t ther deal I got up in the Paumotus! ” he 
went on. “ Old chief Tipo had a heapin’ half pint o’ 
pearls, one on ’em, shape o’ a pear, what’ud fetch ten 
thousand rhinos out o’ a bloomin’ idol, let alone a Jew. 
Me jes achin’ ter get ’em in me fist! Me with me goods 
spread out an’ a playin’ an alarm clock as a big offer, 
an’ every bloomin’ Kanaka just goin’ loco a listenin’ ter 
th’ thing tick! Mebbe thought ’twas a god that was 
canned up like sardines fer all I know! I had ter 
swing a club ter keep ’em from bustin’ th’ thing wide 
open. Curious as hell they wuz! Old false face wuz 
jus’ a goin’ ter hand over th’ pearls, an I’m a seein’ 
m’self a walkin’ down Piccadilly with me belly stickin’ 
out like a bloomin’ alderman, when in walks th’ Sphinx 
a totin’ a phonygraph. Sets th’ dam’ thing a goin’, too, 
blarst ’im! Sounded like forty cats with their tails tied 
together, clawin’ an’ spittin’ at the bottom o’ a barrel. 
Th’ Sphinx tells ’em it’s th’ god o’ happiness what 
has breathed his breath in th’ box! Some liar, but by 
cripes they believed ’im! They git a strangle hold on 
one tother, an’ start a dancin’ like a herd o’ highsterical 
kangaroos, an’ th’ Sphinx jus’ a chunk o’ stone, never 
crackin’ a smile, jus’ damn sure o’ himself, the hellion! 
Did I kick? I’ll say I did! Did it git results? Yll 


G’RILLA 


29 


say it did! Th’ old cannibal jus’ slammed me on’ th’ 
bean with th’ clock. It never made ’nother tick, quit 
dead! Seem’ there wuz no chance o’ trade, I mooseyed 
along toward th’ beach, kinder fast like—jus’ about two 
jumps ahead o’ th’ first forty of ’em! By gawd, that 
can o’ jazz seemed t’ make ’em hanker fer meat! I 
could smell m’ self cookin’! ” 

The last of the rum went the way of the first, and 
he hurled the bottle at the head of the inattentive 
Magyar with a stentorian roar for another to take its 
place. The Magyar ducked under the bar as the bottle 
shot over his head and cascaded into fragments among 
the demijohns and kegs. He instantly bobbed up again 
with the rebound of a rubber ball, bringing with him 
another of G’rilla’s favorite brand, which he slid across 
the bar to the waiting “ duchess.” It was efficiency 
with a capital “ E,” a mingling of expert service with 
safety first on the split second—a stunt that betokened 
long experience in dodging missiles during many riot¬ 
ous moments in old Tom’s dive. 

As the “ duchess ” served him, the G’rilla cursed 
her roundly for being a “ bloomin’ snail,” adding a 
snarl of epithets that were hideously unclean and reek¬ 
ing with beastly criticism of her womanhood. Her 
flippant retort, an insult in kind, brought a vicious slap 
with the back of his hand that drove her backwards, 
screaming, against the bar, with blood on her lips and 
the mark of a huge paw reaching from chin to ear like 
a purple brand. 

There were murmurs of protests at the other tables, 


30 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


but no one seemed particularly anxious to avenge the 
girl, neither the Magyar, nor Tahiti Tom, who, ever 
fearing a bloody brawl, chattered a shrill reprimand 
for her daring to wag her silly tongue at such an 
“ exalted prince of a customer as the honorable G’rilla.” 
As for Bagsley, he ignored the Chinaman’s abject apol¬ 
ogy, and defiantly glared around, challenging, his jaws 
thrust forward, and his slit of a mouth distorted into a 
malignant grin. 

The orchestra started up with a screeching whine 
and several couples began to dance inside the square 
of tables. In one corner, a quartette of sailors broke 
out in song. They were Italians, their song a rollicking 
chanty of the Bay of Naples, of seamen outward bound 
in the red glare of old Vesuvius. It was a bedlam of 
noise, a saturnalia of wheezy instruments, the thump 
of prancing feet, the boisterous gutterals of the singers 
in a prankish desire to drown out the accordion and 
banjo and throw the dancers out of step. There was 
no resentment, just gales of laughter while making 
desperate efforts to measure awkward hops first to one 
tune and then another, with an occasional feminine 
shriek as some clumsy man/ made a pedestrian tour over 
the toe of a woman’s shoe. 

The G’rilla and his companions had now quieted 
down, and their conversation was so low that it reached 
the cocked ears of those at the neighboring tables in a 
mere rumble of sound. At intervals they caught the 
word “ Sphinx ” linked with a profane adjective. 


G’RILLA 


3i 


Ways and means of reprisal were being discussed, the 
chance of linking profit—the looting of treasure—with 
a merciless and bloody squaring of accounts with this 
man of mystery, this marvel of silence in a world of 
blatant and talkative men. 

They called him the “ Sphinx ” because of his 
taciturnity, his reticence concerning his past, and partly 
for his methods at a poker table when stakes were high, 
his competitors in an inferno of suppressed emotions, 
and he—a man of stone. He had left vivid memories 
in every port in the South Seas, memories that were 
romance emblazoned, and passed from mouth to mouth 
on many a turbid waterfront. There were tales of 
indomitable pluck; of gangs of poachers faced single 
handed and driven from his pearl beds in ignominious 
and bloody retreat; of a fierce descent upon a village of 
cannibals to drag from their cooking pits a member 
of his Kanaka crew, leaving them with enough of their 
own meat to furnish them with a year of banquets; 
of his headlong dive into the lagoon at Mao to rescue 
his Chinese cook from a school of sharks. They were 
wild, weird tales that popped the eyes of natives, and 
brought fulsome awe to the rogues of the sea although 
they muttered blasphemous disbelief. Some called him 
a pearl pirate—a “ killer/’ some men whispered. They 
watched his fleet, little schooner, the Lark , as she cut 
through the phosphorescent water of the lagoon and 
finally disappeared beyond the horizon, and wagged 
their heads sagely over the object of her cruise. Per- 


32 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


haps months later they would knit their brows and 
mutter wild conjectures as the vessel would quietly slip 
into her berth, and its owner again take up his abode 
in the low rambling structure on his island plantation. 
This was the object of G’rilla’s anathema—John Clay, 
a bronze giant of thirty-five, or fifty if the deep fur¬ 
rows of his face and the gray sprinkled so plentifully 
through his hair were to be considered a standard 
of age. 


CHAPTER III 

ENTER THE SPHINX 

Toni, quite the wreck of his usual devil-may-care 
self, was drinking with a couple of his cronies at one 
of the tables. He was very busy trying to explain the 
why and wherefore of a huge red lump that stuck out 
on one side of his forehead like the stub of a horn. 
He was sore, was Toni; aches and pains were shooting 
through his body from a score of black and swollen 
bruises, and every one of his muscles was sending forth 
stinging protests against his slightest movement. But 
his friends were curious, and his reputation as an 
unconquerable cock of the walk must be preserved at 
all costs. So he, stifling his groans, found one pain- 
free spot upon his body that he could sit upon and 
launched into a vivid narrative of an adventure that 
held his audience agreeably spellbound; their gasps of 
astonishment encouraging him to even more astounding 
Munchausenian flights of fancy. He lied so glibly and 
told it so convincingly that before he was half through 
he believed it himself. 

It was a tale of a ferocious devil-man, nine feet tall 
and four times as big as Toni. His eyes were of fire 
and he blew clouds of smoke through his nostrils as a 
sort of smoke screen to disguise his movements. This 
devil-man had cast covetous eyes on Toni’s beautiful 
Mimi, and had come down from the hills to carry her 
3 33 


34 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


off. Many times he had danced around her, making 
weird signs and muttering the most blood-curdling 
incantations, hopping up and down so fast that it made 
her dizzy watching him. She was getting weaker and 
weaker, and was just about to be dragged away when 
he, Toni, appeared on the scene much to the devil- 
man’s surprise. 

“An yo’ no skairt mos’ to def? ” one of the two 
breathlessly asked. 

Toni waved a disdainful hand back and forth, his 
expression one of petrified amazement that such a thing 
could be imagined for a single moment. 

“ Skairt? Me? Huh! I say to my Mimi, go in 
the house an’ I —I will fix this feller. But Mimi, she is 
’fraid! Oh, you should know that woman! She is 
so gentle! She never wan’ to see somebody hurt for 
she has one big heart! She shiver! Her tooths go 
click—click—click! She say ‘ my Toni you are a ver’ 
strong mans. You have the big muscle! Mebbe you 
will kill this devil-man an’ that will be ver’ bad ! 9 I 
say no, I will jus’ bus’ him up a little! She say 
‘ ver’ well, Toni, jus’ a little bit then! ’ So I hit my 
fist with hees nose. It is all sqush’! I hit hees mout’s 
an’ he squeal like a pig! He say, ‘ I mus’ go see a 
feller! ’ I say, ‘ there is more that is not finish,’ an" I 
roll him up in my net. Ho, ho! you should see him! 
Even my Mimi she laugh! I get me a club. It is a 
big one! I whack that devil-man twenty, mebbe ten 
times, anyhow a plenty. You should see the funny 
places where I hit that feller. I bet you he is sore 


ENTER THE SPHINX 


35 


some place! Bimeby he say ‘pleas’, pleas’, nice Toni, 
it is only a little joke that I make you! Pleas’ be so 
kin’ as to let me go; I will be a ver’ good devil-man 

sure! ’ An’ then, what you t’ink-? ” 

He stopped suddenly, for he noted that there was 
a switch in the attention of his auditors. They were 
looking past him, so he turned in his chair. With head 
thrown back, and arms akimbo, her nose uptilted and 
her mouth drawn into a withering sneer, Pan was 
scornfully regarding him. But, however inopportune 
her appearance might have been, Toni never batted an 
eye, nor did the red of embarrassment show through his 
skin, nor did he stutter or stammer in his effort to 
relieve the situation. Not he! Not the unconquer¬ 
able Toni! 

“ ’Elio, *ello! ” he brazenly greeted her. “ I am jus’ 
tol’ my frien’ why I have not the happiness—’cause the 
lofely Pan she is not here! ” 

He reached for a chair that she might sit with 
them, but she contemptuously refused it. 

“ Your Mimi, she was ver’ dirtee, an’ now, by 
golly, she is wash’! ” she declared triumphantly. 

With a wagging of head, a shrugging of shoulders, 
and a waving of hands and arms, he sputtered a volley 
of excuses. He would not have left her with “ that 
Mimi ” if he had not had to see a “ feller ” on business. 
Then he had met his two friends who had invited him 
to have a drink and he had to be polite. That very 
moment he had been on the point of starting back, 


36 PANDORA LA CROIX 

with the intention of showing “ that” woman that he 
was the boss. 

“My Mimi? Pooh, pooh! She is one dam’ ol’ 
louse!” he declared, “but you— you , my Pan, you 
are a boo-tee-ful sunfish, an’ I lofe you! ” 

She seemed to melt at once. Her face was suffused 
with smiles; her eyes dancing with delight. Her hand 
gently patted and smoothed his hair as she crooned, 
“ My Toni! My beeg, boo-tee-ful Toni! ” 

He sighed, soulfully, inwardly complimenting him¬ 
self on being such a devil with the women. He man¬ 
aged to dart a triumphant glance toward his cronies 
with an almost imperceptible lifting of his eyes by 
which he tried to inform them that no one could really 
blame the girl. But one avowal was not enough for 
Pan. She wanted another. 

“ Yo’ are ver’ sure zat yo’ love me, my Toni ? Yo’ 
ees not lie, ees yo’ ? ” 

“ My heart she bus’ for you! ” he fervently assured 
her. " When I see you, my Pan, I am tickle’ from my 
foots to my hair! When I kees you my lips go crinkle, 
crinkle with the tickle! By golly, I am tickle’ now! 
An’ why am I tickle’? You should ask me that!” 

“ An’ yo’ ees ver’ sure ? ” 

“ Sure!” 

Her jaws came together with a vicious snap, her 
sinewy little fingers twisted into the mat of his hair, 
and his head was jerked back until the bones almost 
cracked. She looked down into his eyes—her own 


ENTER THE SPHINX 


37 

were blazing—and seizing his glass of liquor with her 
free hand, she raised it aloft with a gurgling laugh. 

“ My lovair,” she drawled maliciously, “ I am teekle 
zat yo’ ees teekle! I give yo’ ze gran’ toas’! Here ees 
to yo’ ver’ good go-to-hell! ”, and swish, she dashed the 
contents of the glass full in his face. 

He roared lustily, pawing the fiery aguardiente 
from his eyes, while she, catching the time of accordion 
and banjo, whirled away in a few steps of a sensuous 
native dance. 

As she darted a triumphant glance backward at 
the discomfitted Toni, a coast trader seized her by the 
arm and drew her into a chair beside him. He had 
just raised an arm to beckon a barmaid to him when 
G’rilla Bagsley slouched across the room. Without a 
word he lifted the trader and chair a full five feet from 
the floor, and chucked him out of it as if he was dump¬ 
ing out the contents of a sugar scoop. Whatever 
unnameable selection the “ orchestra ” was playing 
ended in a discordant screech. Dancing stopped. The 
groups at the tables pushed forward, everyone eager to 
get a first row view of the expected scrap; but the 
trader scrambled to his feet, and only assuaged his 
injured feelings by a muttered flow of imprecations 
as he slunk away. 

Paying no attention to him whatever, G’rilla put 
the chair down, and planted himself beside Pan. Punc¬ 
tuating each word upon the table top with a thumping 
forefinger, he growled out: “ When Fm here, me purty 
one, there ain't no othersl Savey? ” 


38 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


She started up defiantly, and he as quickly seized 
her to draw her into his lap. They both came to their 
feet in the struggle, and the rabble again surged for¬ 
ward, eager for the new diversion. It was something 
less bloody perhaps than their recent disappointment 
might have been, but funnier, excrutiatingly funnier, to 
see the frenzied efforts of this girl in a hopeless attempt 
to free herself from the grip of such a Goliath as 
G’rilla Bagsley. One waggishly counselled her to “ hit 
him in the wind,” another suggested “ a stiff wallop 
under his chin,” while a third called attention to the 
fact that “ G’rilla was groggy and going fast.” 
“ G’rilla ” was thoroughly enjoying himself. Despite 
her fighting with the ferocity of a wildcat, clawing, 
biting, kicking to free herself, he held her in a bear-like 
hug, fairly belching the unnameable things that he 
intended to do to her when she had worn herself into 
helpless submission. 

With a sudden twist in his arms, she managed to 
get her knee into the pit of his stomach and, with it 
as a catapult, she tore herself loose, and hurtled him 
over against the table. As she whirled to dart away, he 
recovered his balance and sprang after her. Thor¬ 
oughly frightened and cowering against the wall, she 
could almost feel his claws upon her. The door opened 
and John Clay stepped between them. 

There was a moment of dead silence. Even 
“ G’rilla ” came to a sliding stop before he had covered 
half the distance to the terrified girl. He seemed rooted 
to the spot, his mouth agape at the abrupt appearance 


ENTER THE SPHINX 


39 


of the very man who had been the subject of his exe¬ 
crations but a short time before. The rabble thrilled 
with expectancy. Intuition told them that he was there 
for action, that Chance had not written him into the 
play to have him sink his identity into one of the mob; 
he was a new character arriving at a crucial moment to 
drive this boisterous comedy into a whirlwind, heart 
throbbing, melodramatic climax. 

The first one to break the tension of the situation 
was Tahiti Tom. “ G’rilla’s ” affair with Pan had 
given him no uneasiness. It had amused his custo¬ 
mers. It was purely entertainment. But now he 
sensed the inevitable battle. That would be expensive, 
for he knew only too well the destruction that always 
followed. He pushed his way toward Bagsley. 

“ Exalted one! ” he chattered. “ Pleas’, oh pleas’ 
do not raisem hell in the house of a poor toad! ” 

“ G’rilla’s ” hand shot forward and, with hands 
spread claw-like over the Chinaman’s face, he hurtled 
him backward into a huddled heap on the floor. Tom 
uttered a shrill cry as he scrambled to his feet and, 
sobbing and groaning, tore his way through the crowd 
in a wild dash for the little cubby where he threw 
himself before his joss in a frenzied jumble of suppli¬ 
cations in slobbering Chinese. 

“ G’rilla,” with a vicious snarl, waved Clay out of 
the way much as he would an insignificant weakling, 
but if he expected compliance he was doomed to dis¬ 
appointment. Clay remained immovable, as wordless 
and smileless as the stone image after which they had 


40 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


nicknamed him. The bully sprang forward with a 
frightful volley of oaths. With one battering onslaught 
he intended to crush Clay to the floor, and complete 
with his boots the havoc of his hammering fists. Defeat 
never occurred to him. He was G’rilla Bagsley. The 
girl could wait. Later he would teach her her paces. 
Now had come the opportunity to make this silent one 
pay for beating him out of that half pint of pearls, and 
for many other tricks that he had played on the rogues 
of the sea. It would be a revenge so complete that it 
would never be forgotten in old French Oceania. Those 
of the ports that had found so many thrills in the lies 
that were told of this fourflushing man of stone would 
have the opportunity of being entertained by a crippled 
fool that he, “ G’rilla ” Bagsley, would send among 
them. He’d just tear the man out of him and let 
him live. 

Pan screamed and covered her face with her hands 
as he struck the floor with the rebound of a rubber 
ball and his huge fist shot out. Simultaneously came 
a concerted yell of amazement, a pandemonium of 
cheers from the rabble as they wildly scrambled on to 
the tables and chairs to get a better view. Bagsley 
had measured his length on the floor with a crash that 
set old Tom off with renewed vehemence in his delirious 
appeal to his god, appeals that were mixed with shrill 
curses upon the “ white devils ” who were changing his 
perfectly “ heavenly abode ” into a shambles. 

There was a yell of warning from Pan as “ G’rilla ” 
leaped to his feet with a knife in his hand. He lunged 


ENTER THE SPHINX 


4i 


toward Clay, the knife held for a deadly upward slash 
—a butcher’s trick—but Clay’s right hand clamped over 
his wrist and a quick wrench sent the knife spinning 
across the floor. Again Bagsley went down, one jaw 
crushed under the terrific impact of Clay’s fist. In¬ 
stantly, with a lightning whirl that for one of his bulk 
was unbelievable, using arms and legs for propulsion, 
he spun around upon his buttocks like a grotesque pin- 
wheel. Clay leaped to one side in an effort to save 
himself, but, caught by one of “ G’rilla’s ” thrashing 
legs, he, too, plunged to the floor. 

“ G’rilla ” leaped to his feet with a bellow of 
triumph: He plunged forward with the intention of 
switching attack from fists to boots—murderous boots 
that had stamped and kicked the life out of many a 
luckless trader and Kanaka, sometimes with the ghost 
of a reason, sometimes as a mere mountebank seeking 
to amuse a crowd. But this time he met his Waterloo, 
for Clay had rolled away, and was again on his feet 
before “ G’rilla’s ” boots had struck the spot where he 
had lain. Again his fist crashed into that broken jaw, 
and it was only by a superhuman effort that “ G’rilla ” 
kept his footing. Again he lunged forward, this time 
more wary, less confident, and with an immeasurably 
greater respect for his antagonist. He was worried, 
was “ G’rilla ”! It didn’t look as if the king was 
to send a crippled jester for the men of ports to 
laugh at. 

It had now ceased to be a fight if it ever had been 
one. It was one man punishing another, mercilessly 


42 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


beating him down, whimpering for quarter, amid a 
wreck of tables and chairs. The rabble, a veritable 
wolf-pack licking their chops at a feast, wildly cheered 
each terrific smash and, rising shrill above the pande¬ 
monium, were the lamentations of old Tom in the 
little cubby off the “ L.” Only once was Clay struck, 
a glancing blow that he did not heed. 

At last Bagsley went groggily to the floor, and 
apparently elected to remain there, for he made no 
effort to rise. To his very evident disgust, for he 
screamed a protest, he was deftly caught by the nape 
of the neck, unceremoniously yanked to his feet and, 
with a mighty shove and kick, flung through the door 
and into the roadway. 

Then the island’s entire police force came—two of 
them—fast running and full of official ginger. They 
stopped short and critically surveyed Clay as he stood 
in the doorway, his hand resting on one side of its 
frame. Their courage oozed as copiously as their 
perspiration, for, although the peace must be main¬ 
tained, he was so formidable that assault and seizure 
would be perfectly ridiculous without numerous rein¬ 
forcements and —Mon Dieu, there were none. He 
solved their problem by throwing several coins at 
their feet. 

“ I pay tribute unto Caesar,” he told them grimly, 
“ and I expect Caesar to be a gentleman! ” 

The coins were quickly gathered up, and the mighty 
“ G’rilla ” yanked to his feet and dragged away. 

Pan crept under Clay’s arm. She pressed her body 


ENTER THE SPHINX 


43 


close to his side, and demurely looked up into his face. 
He paid no attention to her and she pouted a little. 
Wasn’t she the prize for which he had fought ? Wasn’t 
she his woman now by right of conquest? Shouldn’t 
he give her “ jus’ one littT look anyhow ” ? She edged 
over in front of him and raised her hands until they 
rested on his shoulders. Even this failed to arouse 
him from the drift of his sombre reflections, and she 
consoled herself with the thought that she could leave 
matters to her “ little devil ” who had so far very 
successfully managed her affairs. So she nestled close, 
and waited. 


CHAPTER IV 


THROUGH REEFS OF CORAL 

If John Clay had been asked why he had come to 
Tahiti Tom’s he would have been plunged into a maze 
of bewilderment. He could not have adduced one 
tangible reason for his going there, and yet he had 
taken the shortest cut, and hurried over the ground 
as if everything had depended upon his covering the 
distance in the shortest possible time. The ever- 
purposeful and all-intelligent Energy that men call God 
often directs a man’s footsteps into a place never fre¬ 
quented before, and seldom unfolds the reason until 
the spot is reached. However, John Clay the skeptic, 
would have ridiculed this as an inane blaming of the 
foibles of an absent-minded man to the freakish whim 
of his Creator. Yet he had come, and tie had been 
plunged into a combat in defense of a girl that he had 
never seen before, at whom he had not even given a 
glance as he struck the first crushing blow that had 
sprawled “ G’rilla ” Bagsley at his feet. Even after it 
was all over he would not have admitted that the girl 
had been a factor in the affair. The bully had needed a 
thrashing on general principles. He had administered 
it. Kismet! 

There had been no reason for his schooner coming 
to anchor before the cluster of flimsy buildings, with 
rickety, weatherbeaten landing-place and rat-infested 
44 


THROUGH REEFS OF CORAL 


45 


warehouse that had been dignified into an occasional 
port-of-call by steamers plying between Australia and 
countries far to the North and East. The cruise of 
the Lark had been long and arduous. She had pushed 
her way through the Marquesas, Societies, the Paumo- 
tus, even to the far Astral. She had found many 
strange havens, uncharted, dangerous, where a score 
of huge drums had ofttimes summoned a horde of 
shrieking savages to the circus-like tiers of stone seats 
under the spread of a sacred Banyan tree, there—with 
bodies saffron smeared to throw in high relief the 
arabesque of fantastic tattooing that covered them from 
head to feet—to wait the signal for a bacchanalian 
orgy, the epicurian tidbit some luckless white man that 
ill-fortune had thrown among them. 

She had only pointed homeward when the first 
squall of the hurricane season had whistled its shrill 
warning through her rigging and bold intrepid sea¬ 
manship was required to negotiate the maze of coral 
reefs and atolls that sprang up and disappeared before 
the advancing prow like living things—sirens of de¬ 
struction sporting in a swirl of angry waters. Now, 
when the home-berth was in sight, he had astonished 
Jim Hayes, his superintendent and erstwhile mate, by 
directing the course of the schooner past the island 
whereon he ruled as a veritable potentate—for although 
a French possession, through an amicable understand¬ 
ing, no one interfered with him in the conduct of its 
internal affairs. 

But Hayes asked no questions. He grumbled pro- 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


46 

fanely and plunged into a fit of sulks, while the Kanaka 
crew gazed longingly at the jaws of coral that enclosed 
the little harbor and the phantasmagoria of cloud- 
wreathed cliffs that had loomed up so majestically invit¬ 
ing and were now fading to a mere blur, and chattered 
their disappointment at the unexplainable delay of the 
festival that had always celebrated the homecoming 
of the master. 

There was always feasting and dancing under the 
ungainly coco palms. The dances were centuries old, 
amorous, suggestive, proscribed as unclean on the other 
islands but unprohibited here. John Clay had never 
allowed a priest or missionary to set foot upon his 
domain, consequently there had been no forced change 
of ancient habits and customs—changes that had de¬ 
populated islands and caused the native stoically to re¬ 
gard death as a welcome relief from a frightful ennui. 
Here, no blundering white, fanatically waving a cruci¬ 
fix as supreme authority for interference, could declare 
unclean and immoral the customs of ages that had made 
these people the physical superiors of every other people 
on the face of the earth. Nothing was proscribed, not 
even a fig leaf as a toilette de luxe, nothing but canni¬ 
balism, and the use of opium with which white and 
yellow have enslaved so many of the brown. 

And he respected their tapus; those twice, a hundred 
laughable superstitions of what must be done and 
what not done, all carrying a dire penalty, injury, sick¬ 
ness, death in some awful form, perhaps a visitation 
of the dreaded vehinehae, those hungry ghosts of canni- 


THROUGH REEFS OF CORAL 


47 


bal ancestors who lay in ambush in the shadows of a 
road and seize upon the living as victims for their 
cooking-pits. 

Whatever John Clay’s reputation among his own 
kind, he was literally worshipped by the hundred odd 
children of nature that made up the folk of the little 
village a quarter of a mile from the big house that he 
called home. Even this house was held sacred, a shrine 
to which they brought their ills, their petty quarrels, 
their childish complaints, and from which they 
never departed unsatisfied, even wagging their 
heads in approval when judgment had been rendered 
against them. 

This house, a commodious one-story structure of 
many rooms, was built upon a paepae bae or terrace 
that was a hundred feet in length by perhaps seventy in 
width. The paepae bae was raised a full eight feet 
from the ground and was reached by a broad flight of 
steps. Both terrace and steps were constructed of black 
volcanic rock, hewn square and fitted without cement, 
but with an ingeniousness that made the structure 
impervious to the most terrific hurricane, even against 
the havoc of time itself. Around the outer wall of 
the house a broad space had been left for a veranda, 
and this was edged with pillars of unbarked palm that 
supported the overchanging roof. 

The paepae bae occupied the centre of a huge gar¬ 
den, an acre in extent, and this was surrounded by a 
nine foot wall was built of the same volcanic rock as- the 
terrace. Two heavy gates, topped by a flaring beacon, 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


48 

gave entrance to the enclosure and opened out upon 
the beach, a crescent of white sand that partly enclosed 
the saucer-like spread of the lagoon. A quarter of a 
mile seaward were the two menacing jaws of iridescent 
coral, jagged, cruel as shark’s teeth, and ever glistening 
in the sun with diamond-like flashes of blues, and 
crimsons, and yellows. Between these jaws was the 
entrance to the haven, hazardous in foul weather, even 
in fair weather barely wide enough for the Lark to 
creep cautiously in. 

With the exception of the coral jaws of the harbor 
and a thicket-lined path in the rear of the compound 
that led to the plantation and native village, the place 
was entirely surrounded by towering cliff’s—here, 
dropping sheer down for a thousand feet, the growling 
waters at the base ever threatening the conquering 
storm to come; there, colossal carvings of the elements 
that resembled the lightning and quake-split fragments 
of some ancient temple, among which were squads of 
ungainly giants who stood grimly upright guarding 
for eternity the sacred ruins. Close to the garden wall 
a stream, whipped white as snow, leapt over a stairway 
of rock and fell with an incessant roar into the waters 
of the lagoon. 

Few visitors had ever been received at the big 
house. Even Jim Hayes had his quarters in a small 
bungalow at the landing place, and only entered when 
some exigency of the plantation required a consultation 
or orders were to be given. One servant alone, Fung 
Shui, a wiry old Chinaman, performed every service 


THROUGH REEFS OF CORAL 


49 


from cook to valet with the periodical assistance of 
one or two of the natives—but never a woman. No 
woman had ever been allowed to cross its threshold. 

An official in Sydney, with whom Clay had some 
business at one time, had informed his cronies at the 
club that Clay had a peculiar antipathy toward the 
female of the species—that he had undoubtedly men¬ 
tally created a female Frankenstein to whom he had 
given all the faults, frailties, and vices of every woman 
that he had encountered in his life, not even excluding 
the harridans of the ports, and long association with 
this creature of his imagination had brought him the 
belief that it was the living prototype of the “ noblest 
work of God.” Perhaps the official exaggerated, lied 
for the sake of a laugh, but it was certainly true that 
he avoided them whenever it was possible. 

If Clay lived the solitude of a recluse it was his 
choice and he resented intrusion. When not away on 
a cruise the routine of one day never varied from 
another. He rode over the plantation for an hour or 
so each morning, and would then return to the huge 
living-room with its almost barbaric furnishings. Here 
were queer things that had been brought from strange 
nooks and crannies of still stranger lands—the crude 
freakish art of savages, rugs and draperies of mystical 
inscription and design, scores of weapons of fighting 
men from the asp-headed nulla-nulla of monkey-like 
Australian aborigenes to the most improved of modern 
implements with which civilized men go a-killing. 

He spent many hours with his books, for he owned 
4 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


5o 

a rare collection. Now and then he drifted into the 
garden. Smileless, deep in reverie, he would slowly 
pace the labyrinth of shell paths that wound about in 
an ocean of color, only pausing perhaps to observe a 
blackbird fluting in a brush of bamboo, or solemnly to 
reply to the screeching welcome of a gorgeous cockatoo 
that perched among the giant maroon-hearted poppy¬ 
like blossoms of a purao tree. Fung Shui alone seemed 
to understand this silent, emotionless man. Perhaps 
he shared his confidences, not audibly given but tele¬ 
pathic thought-waves that seemed to register in the sen¬ 
sitive brain of the Chinaman, for the Chinese are a 
mysterious race from whom little that matters is hidden. 

Perhaps this faculty was the reason for Fung Shui’s 
dislike for Jim Hayes, a spineless sycophant scrupu¬ 
lously performing his duties, it is true, yet never in the 
sight of the Chinaman but that every expression of his 
face or movement of his body was followed by piercing 
eyes that glittered beneath lids closed to a mere slit— 
menacingly expectant eyes that were alert for the 
inevitable appearance of yellow or crooked streak. Not 
that Fung Shui expected any overt act against himself. 
Not he! It would be far better for Jim Hayes first to 
select the spot where he wished to “ rest in peace,” and 
upon which he, Fung Shui, would be glad to place a 
bowl of rice and a roasted chicken that Hayes 
might not grow hungry as he made his journey 
across the Styx. 

This unexplainable dislike for Hayes was even 
shared by the natives. He had never abused them, yet 


THROUGH REEFS OF CORAL SI 

they always received him sullenly, the women hiding 
behind the men, the children scudding away into the 
undergrowth as if they were frightened at the appear¬ 
ance of a bogey-man. 

“ Jim Hay’ him no good! ” Poni, the mate, one day 
declared to Fung Shui. “Him bad boy! Eyes go 
sneak-sneak! T’ief mebbe! I don’ know! No likem! 
Bimeby, him, John Clay, him fin’ out sure! Him slam 
Jim Hay’ bam-biff like hell, I bet you! ” 

The autocrat of Clay’s household, with a sarcastic 
reference to the stupidity of mates and Kanakas in 
general, had shrilly expressed his annoyance that any¬ 
one could imagine that Clay would infringe upon what 
was so clearly a prerogative of his office. Did the 
wooden-headed Poni not know that it would be beneath 
the dignity of the “ Honorable Clay ” ? 

“No! No! That is for me!” Fung Shui ex¬ 
claimed, tapping his breast importantly. “ John Clay 
him glentleman! Savey? Him no bamee-biffee! Him 
slay ‘ Fung Shui yo’ raisem hell Jim Hay’ scoot! ’ jus’ 
like him say ‘ Fung Shui clup cloffee,’ an’ me, I raisem 
hell Jim Hay ’! ” 

It was pure brag but it registered, for Poni had 
wagged his head and chuckled delightedly, “ I bet yo’ 
Jim Hay’ him be dam’ seek man! ”, which Fung Shui 
had taken as a compliment, benignly patting the mate’s 
shoulder, a mute assurance that although he might be 
a bad man to arouse and his wrath most disastrous, yet 
Poni need never fear for himself. No, he, Fung Shui, 
was always kind to inferiors. A cake, hot from his 
oven, was a further proof of his amity. 


CHAPTER V 


THE NEWSPAPER CLIPPING 

Past John Clay’s Eden the Lark had plowed de¬ 
fiantly through the spume of the sea under the urge of 
the tail end of a gale that was whistling through the 
rigging and buffeting against the spread of canvas with 
staccato, gun-like explosions—a now impotent fury 
that still lingered under the croaking protests of swing¬ 
ing blocks and whine of straining ropes. 

Unmindful of the heave and toss of the vessel, John 
Clay sat at the table in the little cabin. Before him 
were a number of account books, and a small tin cash 
box that had been dented and battered by long usage. 
From a buckskin bag he had poured a fortune in pearls 
that were now spread out upon the table in an iridescent 
circle of satiny lustre over which there was a constant 
play of fleeting, elusive tints—flashes of pinks, of 
saffron, and of the blue of the noonday sky, specks of 
yellow, and of purple that sported in the light rays from 
heliotrope to violet. Flimsy baubles these that for cen¬ 
turies had been the quest of rough men who had braved 
the sea’s fury, death in the shark’s maw, who even 
murdered each other for the mere spread that an 
annoyed oyster had splashed over an intruding nui¬ 
sance—for the tomb of a worm to ornament the breast 
of a woman. 

From the centre of the circle he picked up a pear- 
52 


THE NEWSPAPER CLIPPING 


53 


shaped pearl of great size and brilliancy. He turned 
it about on the tips of his fingers, allowing the light 
rays to bring out all the beauty of its color and lustre. 
Even with the closest scrutiny under a jeweler’s glass, 
it proved to be flawless, a gem the like of which had 
seldom been found in all the history of South Sea 
pearling. Yet so far as any expression of his face 
was concerned, one might have thought it a pebble that 
he had picked up on the beach. 

Hayes entered from the passageway to inform him 
that they were through the reefs of Mao, and would 
make port within an hour. His report was received 
with a mere nod, and Hayes was about to turn away 
when he caught sight of the pearl in Clay’s hand. 
Pearls and the wealth they would bring had become 
an obsession with him, and he stopped, completely fas¬ 
cinated, shifting uneasily on his feet, his lips twisting 
in an effort to speak a word of its beauty—anything 
that would give him an excuse to stay a moment longer 
and feast his eyes upon this wonderful thing that 
seemed so alive, so jovially blinking, so inviting. Every 
gleam of radiance was a temptation, a suggestion of 
possibilities, a promise of opportunities that would 
come—if it were his; independence for life, escape 
from endless waters and filthy islands, a return to the 
civilization that had banished him. He had never been 
clever. Fickle fortune had made quite a fool of him. 
Past dabblings in financial matters—an embezzlement 
—had resulted disastrously. Another experiment, 
with a drunken trader at Singapore, had proven that 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


54 

there was little satisfaction to be obtained from the 
driblets of a snatched purse. Yet he still had his 
dreams of sudden wealth—picked up without much 
effort—such as this might be. 

The more he centred his gaze upon the gem the 
more its insidious lure twisted his reason. It robbed 
him of his caution, and stripped away the mask of 
hypocrite and thief. He became oblivious of his sur¬ 
roundings, of Clay’s presence, a monomaniac whose 
one thought was the potential riches lying just beyond 
the reach of his fingers. Step by step it drew him 
toward the table. He came slowly, noiselessly, holding 
his breath until his lungs pounded an angry protest. 
No hypnotist ever played a more ludicrous prank upon 
a subject. The one thought of the crack-brain was 
to seize the gem, that it was his for the taking; his 
one fear that it would dissolve in the air before he 
could get it into his possession. Then something 
seemed to snap in his brain and left him weak and trem¬ 
bling from head to feet. The perspiration streamed 
down his face. A grip on the table was all that kept 
him upright. He could feel Clay’s eyes boring into 
him, unerringly reading his thought, and he was afraid, 
terribly afraid. It was as if he had really stolen the 
pearl, had been convicted, and was in the dock awaiting 
the first word of the sentence. It seemed an age before 
Clay spoke. 

“ It is a temptation, so I do not blame you,” he said, 
coldly. “ Perhaps that is its mission! ” He regarded 
it reflectively, then went on, “A conspiracy between 


THE NEWSPAPER CLIPPING 


55 


an oyster and a tapeworm to enslave women—and de¬ 
stroy men! There is grim humor in that thought—and 
much tragedy! ” 

Hayes reached for his handkerchief to mop his 
face, and found that he didn’t have one. He was denied 
even this sustaining prop, and anyone can understand 
how disconcerting it is not to have a pocket hand¬ 
kerchief when one needs it. He tried to pull himself 
together, to assume an injured air, to deny that he had 
been tempted, to assert with dignity that he had been 
cruelly misunderstood, to proclaim his utter contempt 
for things material; but he caught the sarcastic gleam 
in Clay’s eyes, and his fumble for words ended in a 
stammering, inane— 

“ It’s a very pretty pearl, in fact, a—deucedly pretty 
pearl. Oh, yes, indeed! It must be worth a lot of 
money—a huge sum! ” 

“ Yes—in the ducats of a fool! ” 

Hayes laughed sillily. Not that he was filled with 
joy. He would have admitted, himself, that he was 
quite uncomfortable, and that the deck was far more 
pleasant than this cursed cabin. But he was flounder¬ 
ing around, trying to think up the way to make a grace¬ 
ful exit, and the laugh only filled in a portion of an 
atrocious gap of silence while he thought of something 
else to say. 

“ And Mapiao Tipo gave it for a thirty-dollar 
phonograph! ” 

Again the silly laugh—almost a cackle. He ex¬ 
pected that it would be taken as a compliment and was 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


56 

sorry he couldn’t give Clay a jovial nudge as he said 
it, but, unfortunately, the table was between them. Clay 
caught the intended subtlety, the easing of conscience 
of a potential thief, that as the pot and kettle were 
of the same color they should dwell together in amity. 

“ And ten cakes of soap! ” he corrected, with 
mock earnestness. “ You forget the soap! He is a 
shrewd bargainer, is Mapiao—a hard, a very hard man 
to do business with, exacting, very! He has much 
wisdom—tattooed on his skin. He will have a deal of 
comfort with his music box—as long as the needles 
last. I must send him a supply, and a few records. 
Remind me of it! ” 

A gesture was sufficient to inform Hayes that the 
room he occupied was preferable to his company, and 
he started for the door with an alacrity that annihi¬ 
lated space even if it did lack dignity. He stopped in 
the passageway as he closed the door, and drew a deep 
breath. He felt as if he had been chased over a suc¬ 
cession of fences by an enthusiastic bulldog and had 
just managed to escape its teeth. He glowered at the 
door and muttered a curse—a curse upon Clay’s good 
fortune, and upon his own damnable ill-luck that had 
ever made him a lackey of the men who do things . 
What just that one pearl would mean to him if he 
could but manage to get it into his possession! But 
how? That was the rub. He realized that he had 
made a fool of himself, that he had very nearly be¬ 
trayed his weakness for other people’s property. He 
must watch his step. Clay had an uncanny power in 


THE NEWSPAPER CLIPPING 


57 


sniffing out a thief, and was altogether too much of a 
Tartar when he caught someone fingering his property. 
Yet there must be some way to get that pearl. Of 
course one had to be clever —very clever. He went up 
on deck, turning over one plan after another and reject¬ 
ing each in its turn. 

Clay placed the pearls in the buckskin bag, and 
dropped this into one corner of the tin box on the table. 
In doing so, he dislodged some of its contents, which 
scattered over the floor. He gathered them up—old 
bills, documents, papers concerning long-forgotten 
transactions—and threw them carelessly upon the table. 
He filled his pipe, lit it, and leaned contentedly back in 
his chair. Between puffs he told himself that this 
would be his last cruise—at least oh business. He was 
quite weary of adventure. It no longer beckoned to 
new sensations. It was just an interminable run of 
the same old play, its scenery a desert of monotony— 
its characters lifeless puppets that forever mumbled 
the same old lines and did the same old things to the 
same old cues—the kick of its climaxes no longer tragic 
or inspiring, but just buncomb, something to amuse a 
crutch-bound fool. Hereafter he would remain upon 
his island, revelling in its solitude, easing out the 
remaining years of his life to the melody of the seas 
that foamed over his coral reef. He thought of Hayes 
and his eyes narrowed, his lips grimly pressed to a thin 
line. Whatever he thought it passed quickly, giving 
place to a chuckle of amusement, a shrug of his shoul¬ 
ders. He would watch Hayes and—do something for 
him, poor fellow. 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


58 

He happened to glance toward the floor and caught 
sight of a tattered old wallet. He picked it up and 
started to examine its contents. He had about emptied 
it when he came across a newspaper clipping, yellowed 
with age and worn through the edges of its fold. It 
was the headline of a press dispatch from Calcutta, 
India, to an English journal, and ten years had gone by 
since its publication. 

GREAT EXCITEMENT IN EAST INDIAN MILITARY 
CIRCLES! MURDEROUS ASSAULT! SAFE 
LOOTED! COLONEL SIR EDWARD CARRING- 
FORD, THE VICTIM ! THE REGIMENTAL SUR¬ 
GEON, MAJOR JOHN CRAIG, ACCUSED! 

For a long time he stared down at the clipping like one 
rudely shocked out of a pleasant dream and drowsily 
trying to comprehend the cause. Then a raucous laugh 
issued from between his twisted lips. What a rare 
joker this little slip of paper with its reminder of 
Carringford. Carring ford! How the name burned 
into his brain! What hideous memories it resurrected, 
memories of a soul-destroying agony, of hope annihi¬ 
lated with all a man holds dear, worth fighting for. 
Carringford the victim! The victim! What a quaint 
humorist was he, the man that penned that line! 

Then came a bitter retrospect of events that whirled 
in a kaleidoscopic revel—of characters that stepped out 
of the mist of years to reenact the tragedy that had 
come into his life. They stalked through the drab 
quarters of a military post, through the dense shadows 
of jungle paths, through the avenues and palaces of 


THE NEWSPAPER CLIPPING 


59 


a city of nightmares—a weird city that stewed in the 
heat of an Asiatic sun, and where one breathed freely 
only when the vagrant breezes of the bay lifted its 
stink above the level of a man’s head as it filtered 
through the dusty streets. 

Tragedies need mobs—even as this—mobs to howl, 
and cackle, and jeer; to hold thumbs down as the signal 
for the coup de grace to be given the weakling that had 
gone down under the stabbing blows of freakish for¬ 
tune. Here they came, strutters in uniform and their 
frivolous scandal-mongering women, idlers, male and 
female, anticking clown-like in the haunting witchery 
of an East Indian moon. Then the puppets entered— 
the first player, himself, John Craig, a poet’s model for 
“ A Fool There Was? ” He had preferred soldiering 
for a living in the capacity of an army surgeon, first, 
because he was intensely patriotic, his blood mounting 
to a temperature of no° every time he heard the band 
play “ God Save the King,” and secondly because it 
was far better than starving to death as Doctor Quack 
in civil life. Then followed the “ Prig,” Edward 
Carringford, with a “ Sir ” prefixed to his name by a 
benevolent ruler, and debonair commandant of the 
regiment by virtue of His Majesty’s very royal com¬ 
mission and the ducats of his family—a conceited 
popinjay forever prancing upon the balls of his feet, 
and perpetually swinging a swagger-stick in his right 
hand to balance the monocle sticking in his left eye. 
Then comes the girl of Craig’s dreams, Gloria Gordon, 
the daughter of an English commissioner and the rage 


6o 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


of the barracks, whose sole intellectual attainment was 
a knowledge of her beauty—a coquette, which is a 
twin sister to the “ vamp,” only one is subtly clever and 
the other just bluntly immoral. 

Even now, after all these years, with all that he 
had suffered, he still thrilled at the mental vision of 
her loveliness, and the same old longing gripped his 
heart—the longing to hold her in his arms again, to 
kiss the gold of her hair and the coral of her lips, again 
to experience the rapturous bliss of that moment when 
she had promised to be his wife. 


PART TWO 


The Moving Finger writes; and 
having writ, 

Moves on; nor all your Piety nor 
Wit 

Shall lure it hack to cancel half 
a line, 

Nor all your Tears wash out a 
Word of it. 


Omar Khayyam 




















% 




% 



% 


CHAPTER I 

THE WOMAN IN THE CASE 

“That Gordon girl” was in everybody’s mouth. 
Everyone conceded that she was very beautiful—some 
with mental reservations. The latter were principally 
women. They couldn’t quite believe that she was as 
good as she looked and, besides, the men were alto¬ 
gether too positive in their admiration, and it wouldn’t 
do to encourage them. “ Men are bloodhounds in 
scenting naughtiness,” Mrs. Hicks had declared, and 
as Mrs. Hicks claimed to be psychic, and as Hicks 
was a general and commanded the brigade, her opinion 
had weight. Mrs. Captain Brownley had wagged her 
head in aggressive agreement, for Captain Brownley 
had but recently referred to Miss Gordon as a “ rip¬ 
ping pippin ” while his endearing term for her was 
“ Punkins,” and there was altogether too much con¬ 
trast between the fruit and the vegetable. Of course 
the younger element among the ladies were even more 
perturbed—tearful too at times—for swains grew un¬ 
commonly cold whenever the Gordon came into view. 
She was so indifferent to property rights that they 
seized every opportunity to show their resentment— 
friendly little insults that only received a bewildered 
stare in answer, a snub that was honey coated. 

Few women condemned to an Anglo-Indian mili¬ 
tary and civil settlement can escape Ztf/amania, the 

63 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


64 

impudent nosing into the most intimate details of each 
other’s lives, and the broadcasting of wicked stories 
about their neighbors while maintaining an otherwise 
cordial relationship. A fluent tongue and a piquant 
imagination are “ gifts” when there is nothing else 
to do to kill an oppressive ennui except an occasional 
ball, a “ gabfest ” at the club or hotel, a bridge party, 
or bumping over the impossible lanes of a monotonous 
country in a rickshaw. The only woman who escapes 
the malady is the one with no observation—those who 
were bewildered at birth, and have remained so 
ever since. 

So far Miss Gordon seemed to be scandalproof, or 
rather she was in a state of development as a subject, 
theoretic at present, but the ladies were hopeful. They 
contented themselves with criticizing her style of dress¬ 
ing, her stride as she swung down the Mall, the way 
she sat a horse and danced with the men at the club 
receptions. Her drawl was too “ musically coaxing,” 
her gait was “ inviting,” her dress was ozw-suggestive 
of feminine charms, and the way she lowered her head, 
and drooped her lashes, and “ peekabooed ” out of one 
corner of her eye, and blushed so rosily whenever a 
man spoke to her, was certainly proof that she wasn’t 
exactly what she ought to be. 

As for the men, all raved over Gloria Gordon with 
but one exception—Renshaw of the Military Police. 
He was a “ nut ” on Art, and daubed at an occasional 
canvas. No one ever knew why he excepted. He 
conceded everything but her nose and ears. Her nose 


THE WOMAN IN THE CASE 65 

was a fraction of a point too retrousse, and her ears 
were too far apart by at least three millimetres—an 
unforgivable blemish to one of his aesthetic temper- 
ment. Perhaps his opinion was biased, for he had 
been trying to solve a “ mystery ” for some time, and 
Miss Gordon was “ it.” So far he had failed, despite 
methods that would have aroused the envy of Scotland 
Yard—at least he thought so. 

Gloria Gordon was supposed to be the daughter 
of an English commissioner who had installed her in a 
quaint little bungalow up in the hills where she lived 
with no woman companion save her ayah, a Burmese 
maid, and the small retinue of native servants she had 
brought with her, not one of whom could speak Eng¬ 
lish, and from whom nothing could be wormed, by 
trick or otherwise, that would give knowledge of her 
antecedents. It isn’t at all difficult to gain admission 
into Anglo-Indian society. A blot or two on the 
escutcheon furnishes too rare entertainment for the 
bearer to be denied entree. They are supercritical but 
not exclusive. Gloria Gordon seemed to be plentifully 
supplied with money which gave her a rating as “A 1 ” 
on the tradesmen’s books, her superlative beauty and 
undeniable good breeding won her the same rating 
among the men, and the women had to take her up 
to save their faces. 

Mr. Gordon had only been seen about the place 
on two occasions—once when he arrived with his 
daughter, and a few weeks later when his visit had 
lasted but a few days. Even then he had rarely left 
5 


66 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


the bungalow. He was a well-preserved man of sixty 
odd years, a handsome intellectual type, and rather 
aristocratic in his bearing. Only once had he and his 
daughter appeared together in public, and then it was at 
tea in the hotel cafe. The curious Renshaw had seized 
this opportunity to scrape his acquaintance, and had 
been most graciously received when Gloria had intro¬ 
duced them. Much to Renshaw’s disappointment, the 
conversation that ensued was two sided, Mr. Gordon 
taking no part in it save by an occasional smile or nod 
of head. Finally Renshaw determined to turn on 
the pump. 

“ You are in the civil service, I believe! ” he said. 

“ When? ” Mr. Gordon asked in apparent surprise, 
which of course was no answer at all, and, for some 
reason, Miss Gordon seemed to be secretly amused. 

“ Why,—er—at present! ” 

“ I don’t think that my opinion would be of any 
value, sir,” Mr. Gordon declared after a moment’s very 
deep thinking. “ The theory has been long since ex¬ 
ploded. Some day, a thousand or so years from now, 
they will be digging the remains of Westminster Abbey 
out of fifty or sixty feet of dirt, and trying to estimate 
just how far toward civilization an Englishman had 

advanced, but-” He paused, knit his brows, and 

then with an emphatic gesture of finality, he exclaimed, 
“ I frankly declare that I do not believe a word of it— 
it’s ridiculous! ” 

Renshaw’s mouth dropped open with astonishment, 
and Gloria laughed. 



THE WOMAN IN THE CASE 67 

“ Father is very deaf, Mr. Renshaw,” she explained. 
“ Archaeology is his hobby, outside of his own pri¬ 
vate affairs.” 

Renshaw grew very red, for the “ private ” had 
been just a wee bit emphasized, and his intuition told 
him that Mr. Gordon had understood him perfectly, 
that he had been very delicately told to “ mind his 
business.” It suddenly occurred to him that there was 
some of his own that needed his immediate attention. 

“ How time flies,” he exclaimed, as he hastily got 
up from his chair. 

“ Merely another theory, sir! ” Gordon blandly de¬ 
clared. “You can’t rely on it! I might say that it is 
purely an optical illusion! ” 

He gripped Renshaw’s hand very cordially, express¬ 
ing his “ delight ” for the opportunity afforded him 
of meeting a “ friend ” of his daughter’s. Gloria was 
even more gracious. 

“ You really must call upon father before he leaves,” 
she said, her voice bubbling with enthusiasm. “ I 
know that you two gentlemen would have a perfectly 
stunning time together. There is so much in common 
that you could talk about, intellectual things that are 
quite beyond poor me. Oh, father is a perfect mine 
of information, and I will arrange it so you can have 
him all to yourself. Now, please, promise me, and 
don’t stand on ceremony.” 

He stammered his thanks and hurried away, giving 
a sigh of relief when he reached the hotel veranda. 
He had brains—even if he was in the Police—and 


68 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


realized that he had been “ exquisitely ” ragged without 
the opportunity of a “ come-back. ,, 

“I am a thorough ass,” he angrily muttered. 
“ Now I suppose I’ll always be a reminder to her of 
something funny, dammit! ” 

It was quite natural that Gloria Gordon should 
eventually come under the critical observation of the 
debonair Colonel Carringford, and that he should 
arrive at the conclusion that she was decidedly worth 
while. He was quite as good a critic of feminine 
charms as the curious Renshaw, but he did not confine 
himself to noses and ears. Having set his stamp of 
approval, it was also in the order of things for his 
satellites, a certain toadying clique of officers, to retire 
from the field and give him clear sailing. The many 
wicked stories about him that floated around among the 
women of the station, stories of many an escapade and 
even dishonored native huts, evidently made no impres¬ 
sion upon the girl, for she often received him at her 
bungalow and he acted as her escort at several of the 
polo games and club receptions. 

Of course there were several of the officers in the 
cantonment who did not recognize that the colonel had 
any special privileges, particularly when it came to 
paying court to a beautiful woman, and one of them 
was the regimental surgeon, John Craig. But the sur¬ 
geon’s rivalry apparently gave Carringford no very 
great concern. He was egotistically sure of himself 
in everything that wasn’t connected with active service 
—as for that, the result of an effort of his perturbed 


THE WOMAN IN THE CASE 69 

family to get him as far from home as possible, he 
consoled himself that he looked pretty on a horse. 

“ A prig! ” Major Jim Gridley explosively remarked 
to Nanak Singh, the ressaldar major. “ A prig, sir, 
that thinks that it was a favor to God ’lmighty for hav¬ 
ing allowed him the supreme pleasure of being 
his Creator! ” 

John Craig, up to his ears in a fatiguing round of 
professional duties, plugging new arrivals in the army 
full of drugs, fighting the ever-prevalent enteric fever, 
and spending hours at surgical work in the military 
hospital, in addition to the many cases in the disease- 
infested mud huts of the natives, found little time for 
social affairs. He was seldom a visitor at the club or 
hotel and, although a lover of athletics and a splendid 
horseman, he was never seen at the outdoor sports or 
the polo games. He hadn’t time. His staff was small 
and the days were often many hours too short. The 
son of a struggling country curate who had beggared 
himself to give his son a profession, he depended solely 
upon his pay as an army officer, and he could not afford 
the fast pace set by the clique of wealthy sprigs headed 
by Carringford, even if he had been considered socially 
eligible. There is a deal of snobbery in the Army, and 
Englishmen who serve under the colors are quite 
Brahmanish when it comes to a question of caste. Out¬ 
side of this clique he was a great favorite among the 
officers, English and native, and, as for those in the 
ranks, Tommy, Sikh, and sepoy, no other officer had 
succeeded in instilling the same confidence—a faith 


70 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


that had brought as many of them out of the shadow 
of death as the medicines he prescribed or the instru¬ 
ments he used. 

He had had very little to do with the bungalow 
colony except an occasional call to give treatment. Still 
he was not unwelcome, and many were the inviting 
glances cast upon him by the girls, and they were nice 
girls, too, sensible, vivacious, and a credit to any man’s 
household. Perhaps he might have formed an attach¬ 
ment if ambitious and impecunious mothers had not 
been as cognizant of the amount of his worldly goods 
as himself. Perhaps he might have even surmounted 
this barrier if it had not been for his diffidence, his 
rather boyish bashfulness, whenever he came in contact 
with the “ female of the species,” for he was a hand¬ 
some, well-built chap of unquestionable culture, and that 
goes a great ways toward winning a woman under 
thirty—over that she is quite likely to mix mathematics 
with sentiment, especially a woman condemned to India. 

If it had not been for an accident it is doubtful if 
John Craig would have ever become acquainted with 
Gloria Gordon. Early one morning she started away 
from her bungalow for a horseback ride in the hills. 
She skilfully eluded the eternal vigilance of her coterie 
of admirers and felt that, for once, she could canter 
around the winding paths without being compelled to 
keep up a chatter of conversation or listen to silly com¬ 
pliments. For some time she had experienced a feeling 
of unrest, a revolt against the monotony of her exist¬ 
ence—which is a very dangerous mental state for a 
woman, especially if she is young and beautiful. She is 


THE WOMAN IN THE CASE 


7i 


likely to make a fool of herself if she has “ red blood ” 
in her veins, and Gloria had a-plenty. She was tired 
of the unceasing grind of petty social affairs, of being 
tagged after by the men, of smiling sweetly over the 
politely injected venom of the women. She wanted 
to be alone, to be able to think without interruption, 
to recover her poise. An hour or so of solitude would 
be a tonic, she decided, and that the solitude would be 
complete she refrained from even the service of 
her syce. 

She had quite recovered her spirits when she topped 
a hill and stopped her horse to look down upon the 
station, the cluster of bungalows, the dumpy canton¬ 
ment buildings, and the dusty Mall with its bizarre 
bazaar and town hall. She drew a long breath of relief 
that she was where she was and not down in the splotch 
that was just coming to life to face the dreary monot¬ 
ony of another day. She started to sing, lines of Keats, 
to an air that she improvised. 

“ Oh, Solitude! if I must with thee dwell, 

Let it not be among the jumbled heap 

Of murky buildings! Climb with me the steep,— 

Nature’s observatory—whence the dell 
In flowery slopes, its river’s crystal swell, 

May seem a span; let me thy vigil keep 

’Mongst boughs pavilion’d, where the deer’s swift leap 

Startles the wild bee from the foxglove bell.” 

Her eyes drifted from the station to the bridle path 
that curved and twisted down into a little valley. It 
was very steep and tempting, and a wild impulse seized 
her to spur her horse to top speed in a harum-scarum 
ride down the dangerous incline. The danger never 
occurred to her, but in her hysterical frame of mind 


72 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


it would have made no difference if it had. “ Any¬ 
thing for a thrill ” she laughed as she sent her horse 
leaping along. Once started there was no stopping, 
for the animal had seized the bit in his teeth and taken 
charge of affairs with a vengeance. She lost her hat 
in its first bound, and her mass of wonderful hair 
surged down upon her shoulders and spread out in the 
wind like a lace of gold. But wild as the ride was, she 
was unafraid, abandoning herself to the intoxication of 
terrific speed and urging the animal to still greater 
efforts while singing snatches of every galloping song 
that she could think of. 

If John Craig had been- a fraction of a second 
later in spurring his horse into a ravine there is no 
telling what would have happened to either himself 
or the girl. As it was there was only a hand’s breadth 
between the runaway and his own horse. He had been 
compelled to act so quickly that he but dimly realized 
that the rider was a woman. He quieted his mount and 
rode back upon the bridle path, sending him at a gallop 
in the direction taken by the runaway, for he realized 
that it would be a miracle if she escaped being thrown, 
or if horse and rider should not plunge headlong 
into one or another of the deep ravines that bordered 
the bridle path. A few minutes later, his conjectures 
were verified. He came upon them, she lying uncon¬ 
scious in a clump of brambles and the horse nibbling 
unconcernedly at the foliage a few rods further on. 

He quickly dismounted and carried her out of the 
brambles. A cursory examination was encouraging, 
and he arrived at the conclusion that, beyond a possible 


THE WOMAN IN THE CASE 


73 


shock to her nervous system and a few minor bruises 
and scratches, she had miraculously escaped serious 
injury. He immediately set to work applying restora¬ 
tives and, in a few minutes, she opened her eyes and 
gazed rather dazedly about her. The first really clear 
thought that came to her mind was that a very hand¬ 
some man was anxiously bending over her. 

“ What happened?” she finally asked. 

“ You were thrown from your horse,” he said. 
“ Fortunately you have escaped serious injury. Your 
fall was luckily broken by a clump of brambles.” 

A faint smile flickered on her lips. 

“ I guess I have been making a fool of myself! ” 
she ruefully declared. 

“ But your horse-” 

“ Oh, there were two of us, one quite as silly as 
the other. I grant him my absolution.” She stretched 
out her hand, “ Would you—would you mind picking 
up the pieces ? ” 

He assisted her to her feet and, as she was still 
quite dizzy, he was forced to hold her tightly in his 
arms to prevent her from falling. When she had be¬ 
come more certain of herself he released her and 
stepped back, and she noticed that he was very red, 
actually blushing. Perhaps another girl but the enig¬ 
matical Gloria Gordon would have laughed. She, 
strange to say, admired him for it. 

“You are Doctor Craig?” she asked, but it was 
more of an assertion than a question. He had been 
the only man at the station who had ever appeared 
to be in a hurry, or different from the lackadaisical 



74 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


types that had flocked around her. He had given her 
but a casual glance whenever they had passed—which 
was entirely out of the usual order of things. It had 
piqued her and, very naturally, she had been curious, 
and when a woman is curious, she asks questions. So 
Gloria knew a great deal about Doctor Craig. She 
could have surprised him. 

He bowed gravely. 

“ I could not possibly have met you under more 
auspicious circumstances,” she exclaimed with a laugh. 
“ Let me introduce you to a madcap, Miss Gloria 
Gordon! ” She courtesied, or tried to, but straightened 
up with a moue of pain. 

“ We had better start for your home at once,” he 
hastily counselled. 

He did not wait for her reply but quickly caught her 
horse, and assisted her to mount. With his own mount 
following them, he strode along by her side up the long 
incline and down to her bungalow. There was little 
conversation between them for a reaction had set in 
and he was compelled to hold her in the saddle, and 
once they stopped while he gave her a stimulant. She 
was feverish and hysterical when they finally reached 
her home, and he snapped her ayah into action, got her 
to bed, and administered a sedative. An hour later, 
he was sending his horse at a headlong gait in the 
direction of the military hospital. He was somewhat 
annoyed that his schedule for the day had been hope¬ 
lessly turned topsy-turvy. 


CHAPTER II 


WHEN THE RING ARRIVED 

John Craig attended Gloria until she had entirely 
recovered, and then gave the bungalow colony a new 
subject for gossip. He became a daily visitor at her 
home, and worked far into the night that he might 
steal the time to escort her to the club receptions, and 
the outdoor sports and polo games. They rode out 
together and the goal was always that clump of bram¬ 
bles into which she had been pitched head over heels. 
It seemed to possess a sentimental interest to them both, 
and they grew very serious when they reached it, for 
he realized that he was hopelessly in love, and that he 
had nothing to offer this wonderful girl but the drab 
life of a military post, while she, reading his thoughts 
and intensely practical and worldly wise, mentally 
warned herself that she was beginning to like him alto¬ 
gether too much for her own peace of mind, and was 
eager to get away from a spot that seemed to be 
bewitching them both. 

Of course there were many jealous comments by 
the men who had flocked around her, and who now 
found that she was “indisposed,” or “engaged,” or “not 
at home” whenever they presented themselves to the 
chuprassie guarding her entrance hall. Not even a bribe 
to this autocrat of her door-sill was at all efficacious. 
True, it was taken with sour dignity and stowed away, 

75 


76 PANDORA LA CROIX 

but the answer remained the same. She was still “ not 
at home,” or “ still engaged,” or she had “ not yet 
returned.” The girls at the station soon made the 
happy discovery that the epidemic of fickleness that had 
caused them so much anguish had been permanently 
wiped out by this very skilful doctor. The mesdames 
marvelled at his “ blindness ” and wjere practically 
unanimous in their prophesies of the result of his 
“ infatuation for that Gordon girl.” 

“ She is playing with him just as she has been 
playing with all the others,” Mrs. General Hicks de¬ 
clared at the end of a long social session on her front 
veranda, at which the Gordon-Craig affair had been 
thoroughly discussed. “ For the very life of me I can’t 
understand how men can make such fools of them¬ 
selves ! Why, would you believe it, the General—oh, a 
perfect martinet when it comes to morals —smirks 
like a silly school boy every time he sees her,” she 
laughed sarcastically. “ As far as that goes, the poor 
man ”—she stopped suddenly, just escaping making 
embarrassing admissions—“ well, Pm sure it wouldn’t 
do the chit a particle of good, so there! ” 

“ For my part,” Mrs. Captain Brownley contrib¬ 
uted, “ I can’t understand what she sees in him! Why, 
he’s a perfect iceberg! ” Mrs. Captain Brownley had 
called Major Craig on several occasions when she had 
been “ill”—nervous attacks she called them. The 
captain had been absent. 

Mrs. Hicks regarded her severely. 


WHEN THE RING ARRIVED 


77 


“ Humph! ” she said, or rather grunted, and Mrs. 
Brownley blushed, and bit her lips in vexation. Much 
to her relief Mrs. Hicks abruptly changed the subject. 

If Gloria Gordon had really wished to escape the 
possible consequences of a daily association with John 
Craig, she did the worst thing that she could do—she 
tried to avoid him, and instructed her chuprassie that 
when he called he was to be told that she was not at 
home. This state of affairs lasted two days—an eter¬ 
nity for him—and it plunged her into that same 
feeling of unrest, that hysterical revolt against the 
everlasting “ do nothing but amuse herself ” that had 
prompted that wild plunge down the incline. She was 
tired of the role of a butterfly yet powerless to direct 
herself into another. She felt that she was a mere 
automaton wound up for an existence among mortals 
as mechanical as herself, where inane compliments, 
topics of conversation, and exaggerated courtesies never 
varied one day with another, and smiles, gestures, and 
polite phrases were all standardized by custom to the 
inflexibility of a rule of Hoyle in a game of cards. 
She wanted a change and was ready to plunge into any 
avenue that promised it, and was even indifferent 
where it led to. 

As for Craig, he had been quite content with the 
hour or so each day that he had been privileged to 
revel in his world of romance. She was still in his life, 
even if he had quixotically decided that he could not 
ask her to condemn herself to the humdrum existence 
of a soldier’s wife. It had never occurred to him that 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


78 

this happy state of affairs could end, but those two 
lonely days had awakened him to the disheartening 
truth. It was against all reason that this platonic 
friendship could go on indefinitely. There would surely 
come the suitor who was worthy of her, to whom she 
would give herself. And with the thought that he 
might lose her came the fogging of his notions of 
“a surgeon’s pittance,” and the station in life that 
Gloria was “ entitled ” to. He determined to ask her 
to marry him, and let her be the judge as to whether 
she could face these conditions with him. The first 
day he called at her home five times, double that the 
second, and always with the same result—her chuprassie 
salaaming very low and informing him that the “ mem- 
sahib ” was “ not at home.” But, to his unbounded 
joy, early on the third day she sent for him. 

She gave no reasons for not receiving him, and he 
asked no questions, too happy that they were together 
again. As usual they rode out into the hills, and, as 
usual, the goal was that clump of brambles. Here they 
dismounted and let their horses graze along the bridle 
path. A cloud of minas swirled into the air with a 
babel of shrieking protests as they climbed a small hill¬ 
ock. When they reached the top they dispossessed 
a trio of squirrels that were confabing on a rock, and 
sat down. Both were unusually quiet, he trying men¬ 
tally to unravel a confusion of things that he wanted 
to say to her, and she intuitively sensing the coming 
avowal, and in an agony of embarrassment because she 
felt that she was betraying her expectation by the rather 


WHEN THE RING ARRIVED 


79 


erratic rising and falling of her bosom, and the hot 
flush on her cheeks that she knew must be as red as 
the breast of a bullfinch, saucily regarding them as it 
teetered on the edge of a mango leaf. She was ner¬ 
vously tapping the toe of her riding boot with her crop, 
when he reached for it and laid it on the rock beside 
him, retaining her hand in his own. 

“ There has never been any other woman in my 
life but my mother,” he began, struggling against his 
self-consciousness. “ My people were very poor— 
poorer because of me—giving me my education, my 
profession. They are both dead now, and I am quite 
alone. I have never thought that I could give a wonder¬ 
ful girl—like you—the life that should be hers—the 
comfort of money—and the social position that it 
brings. Yet I love you beyond the power of my poor 
words to express it, and I am going to place myself 
entirely in your hands. I will respect your judgment 
either way—and love you none the less. Gloria, will— 
you marry me ? ” 

The flush had died from her cheeks, leaving her 
skin of ivory whiteness. He felt her hand tremble 
in his, and his heart throbbed with pain when he 
thought that she was going to withdraw it. He waited 
anxiously until the seconds of silence had stretched into 
a minute, and the minute had seemed an age. She 
felt as if she was at the top of a hill, and again looking 
down on a dangerous road, and wondering if she should 
take a chance. She knew him, knew that he was honest 
and loyal, and that she could trust him, but could she 


8o 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


trust herself, her own loyalty, when it came to the 
sacrifice of things that had always seemed so necessary. 
But the spirit of adventure within her was holding high 
carnival, and she looked up at him with a wistful smile. 

“ I fear that you are overrating me,” she said, 
“ I am a selfish—a very frivolous girl. It is you who 
are giving much for very little, but I do love you, John, 
love you very dearly, and if you want me I will marry 
you, and do my best to make you happy— my best,” 
she repeated in a whisper when he had taken her in 
his arms. 

It was Blagrove of the Civil Service who had the 
temerity to rag Colonel Carringford for his apparent 
loss of prestige with Gloria Gordon. Of course this 
was flagrant lese-majestie in the eyes of the two cap¬ 
tains and the young subaltern who were fellow partici¬ 
pants in a card game in the colonel’s quarters. But 
then Blagrove was a coarse person with red hair and 
freckles, and a man with red hair and freckles isn’t 
expected to be diplomatic in the presence of his supe¬ 
riors. Naturally, Colonel Carringford’s pride had been 
stung to the quick. The one thing that he was par¬ 
ticularly jealous about was his “ reputation ” with 
women. Even that had been an asset, a sort of 
voodooic charm that they couldn’t resist. They came, 
they saw, he conquered. He wasn’t in very good humor 
anyway when Blagrove made his stupid faux pas. The 
cards had been going against him, and there were other 
reasons. It had been very hard for him to retain his 
habitual sang froid, but he congratulated himself that 


WHEN THE RING ARRIVED 81 

he had succeeded. It had been a deuced bore, however. 
Blagrove had been such a perfectly silly ass! 

Blagrove had trimmed him out of a considerable 
sum; not only his own money had gone, but a portion of 
a fund that had been placed in his hands to meet the 
expenses of a regimental ball and reception that was 
to be given in honor of the visiting C. O. Not that 
he could not make this up out of the allowance given 
him by a stubborn old gentleman on condition that he 
stay out of England, but the draft would not arrive 
for some time and he would be compelled to borrow 
—which was also a bore, for it hurt his pride. 

The game had become so monotonously disastrous 
that he finally threw down his cards. 

“ Well, gentlemen, I guess that lets me out! ” he 
exclaimed ruefully. 

“ Your play hasn’t been up to its usual standard,” 
Blagrove laughed as he raked in a pot of more than 
ample proportions. “ You are out of sorts to-night. 
In fact, you have seemed to be upset about something 
for several days! Your friends have been anxious.” 

“ That’s very nice of them, I’m sure! ” 

Blagrove winked at the others. 

“ Now the only thing that I can think of that would 
jar our friend, the colonel, off his equilibrium is— 
a woman! ” 

Carringford had gone to the buffet and was pouring 
a drink. 

“ Now you are spoofing me,” he drawled. 

“ Oh, come now, Colonel, you might as well admit 
6 


82 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


that a certain young lady, to whom you were paying 
a great deal of attention, has scratched you off her 
visiting list because of her deep interest in another 
officer in your regiment. Everybody knows it! It’s 
common gossip! ” 

Carringford turned from the buffet and, adjusting 
his monocle, stared owlishly at Blagrove, who had care¬ 
fully folded the heap of bank notes that he had won, 
and was placing them in his wallet. The subaltern 
leaned forward expectantly, while the two captains 
glared in astonishment at his impertinence in alluding 
to the Colonel’s private affairs. 

“I suppose you refer to Miss Gordon?” 
Carringford asked smoothly. 

“ Why—yes—if we must mention names! ” 

“ But you quite astonish me, dear fellow! I did 
not know that I had been scratched from her visit¬ 
ing list.” 

“ Oh, Colonel, what’s the use-” 

“ On the contrary,” Carringford interrupted with 
a significant smirk, “we are very good friends, I 
assure you, and I am not at all afraid that Major Craig 
has or will supplant me in her regard.” 

Blagrove gave him a sharp glance. The conver¬ 
sation seemed to be taking a turn that was distasteful 
to him for he was scowling. 

“ No? ” he questioned indifferently. 

“ Decidedly not! I may say that the lady is more 
than kind to me, but she is a sensible girl, and probably 
considers it good judgment to show an interest in 


WHEN THE RING ARRIVED 83 

someone else and,” he shrugged his shoulders, “ the 
major is as good as any other. Oh, of course, my little 
—er— confession is to be considered absolutely masonic 
for the lady’s sake,” he hastened to add, “ ‘ he who 
filches from me my good name robs me of that ’—you 
know old Shakespeare? ” 

Blagrove regarded him contemptuously. 

“ You are boasting now, and I’m damn sorry I 
opened up the subject for discussion,” he declared 
half angrily. 

“ Boasting, Blagrove ? ” 

“ Certainly you are! Let’s drop the matter! ” 

“ Boasting about whatf ” Carringford persisted, 
in apparent astonishment. “ I certainly haven’t 
attributed-” 

“ But you have inferred—and left the rest to our 
imaginations, and, by God, it’s caddish 1 ” 
Carringford gave a sickly laugh. 

“If you choose to understand-” 

“ I understand you perfectly,” Blagrove hotly re¬ 
torted. “ Your confession? Hell! She has chucked 
you and you’re cut up about it. I hate that sort of 
an animal that will plume himself at the expense of a 
woman! I don’t know this Miss Gordon! She’s noth¬ 
ing to me, and it’s damn well good she isn’t, but I am a 
sport, and I’m for a woman, and I’ve a hundred pounds 
to back that girl! ” 

Carringford coolly waved the others back to their 
seats, for they had come to their feet at Blagrove’s 
angry outburst. Of course the colonel couldn’t under- 



PANDORA LA CROIX 


84 

stand how Blagrove could be so touchy about women. 
It was so ridiculous. 

“ Now, now, my dear fellow , keep your temper,” 
he drawled. “ Your championship of the young lady 
is—er—commendable and—all that. It’s a very pretty 
code—yes, indeed! But nevertheless I’ll take that 
wager! A hundred pounds even that she hasn’t chucked 
me! Let me see! How shall I satisfy you? Ah, yes, 
the regimental ball! She’ll lead the grand march with 
me! Will that be proof enough? ” 

“ Yes—and get this fixed in your mind, you cad— 
if she doesn’t I’ll publicly tear that uniform of! you, 
and—I’ll make you eat it, by God! ” 

He slammed the door behind him, leaving the 
four of them as fixed as statues. Finally 
Carringford laughed. 

“ Oh, he—he means—er—figuratively speaking, of 
course,” he said. “ Now let’s have a drink! ” 

The engagement ring arrived from Bombay, a mag¬ 
nificent thing of diamonds and rubies that must have 
cost at least six months of a surgeon’s screw. Nanak 
Singh had been in John Craig’s quarters when it came 
by Post, and mentioned it to Major Gridley. Gridley 
whistled with astonishment. 

“ So it’s as serious as that,” he exclaimed explo¬ 
sively. “ I’m sorry, damn sorry! I think that he is 
making a great mistake! It takes a lot of money to 
indulge in the luxury of a girl like her, and he’s poor— 
he has only his pay to depend upon.” Screwing his 


WHEN THE RING ARRIVED 


85 

eyes up in a ferocious scowl, he gripped the end of his 
moustache in the tips of his fingers and bent it down 
until the end touched the point of his chin—a habit 
of his when he was confronted by an unsolvable prob¬ 
lem. “ D’you know, somehow, I can’t get her angle 
of it at all!” 

Nanak Singh twisted at his beard, and Gridley eyed 
him expectantly, much as he would a clairvoyant going 
into a trance, for the Sikh had often surprised him with 
his uncanny foresight, exactly as he had surprised many 
foolish hill tribes that had tried to ambush him. 
Gridley moved uneasily, for Nanak Singh always took 
a long time to formulate an opinion. At last the medi¬ 
tation came to an end, and the Sikh spoke. 

“ With her, he is an adventure. He will be as 
important as a single flower to a bee, or a convenient 
limb in the flight of a bird. He would be more sure 
of a temple girl—he would know what to expect. Much 
better if he put a ring in her nose instead of on her 
finger. She would understand that she was his—for a 
long time. You are his friend, Sahib Major— 
warn him! ” 

Gridley laughed sarcastically. 

“ Now that would be a jolly experience, 
wouldn’t it?” 

“ ‘ John, you really mustn’t marry this girl 
because you are only a convenient limb! ’ Huh! I’ll 
see myself! ” 

The greatest moment in John Craig’s life had been 
when Gloria promised to marry him. He had lived 


86 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


in a fool’s paradise up to the next, which was when 
he brought the ring to her in the old walled garden and 
slipped it on her finger in token of their engagement. 
From the smile of satisfaction that followed her critical 
examination of the jewel, he concluded that he had 
not been swindled. 

“ It is lovely, John,” she exclaimed, and permitted 
him to kiss her after a roguish dance around the foun¬ 
tain. It occurred to him that most of her kisses came 
to him at the end of a steeplechase, but she had always 
looked so marvellously rosy and kissable at the finish 
that he couldn’t voice his dislike for mixing athletics 
with romance. Besides, those days had been the hap¬ 
piest when her spirit of mischief had been rampant, for 
she had been moody at times, often dismissing him 
with no excuse but a wish to be alone. 

They would have ridden out that morning if Satan 
hadn’t taken it into his head to stroll into John Craig’s 
Garden of Eden in the person of Colonel Carringford. 

“ Greetings to the fairest lady in all India,” the 
colonel exclaimed with a low bow, and swinging his cap 
with the flourishing sweep of a fourteenth century 
cavalier. “ The elusive lady, I might say, who has 
never been at home when one of her most devoted 
admirers has knocked at her portal.” He turned to 
Craig whose heels clicked together in a salute, and 
wagged back a lifeless hand. “Ah! Major Craig! 
Good morning! ” He looked from one to the other 
in pretended anxiety. “Am I—er—intruding? Must 
I apologize for interrupting a tete-a-tete? ” 


WHEN THE RING ARRIVED 


87 


“ Not at all, Colonel,” Gloria hastened to assure 
him. “ You know that you are always welcome.” And 
John, much against his will, felt compelled to voice 
an affable agreement, while fervently wishing that his 
snobbish superior was in Gehenna. 

“ Ah, but I fear I have,” Carringford grinned back 
at him, and turned to Gloria. “ I crave a boon, dear 
lady, and after you have granted it I promise to take 
myself away, and leave the field to my friend, 
the major.” 

“ A boon? ” 

“ Perhaps I am too late,” he glanced toward Craig, 
“ but I came expressly to beg the honor of being your 
escort to the regimental ball. The committee have 
expressed the desire that we lead the grand march 
together, and I cannot tell you how unhappy I will be if 
you have made any other arrangements.” 

“I am sorry to disarrange any plans of the com¬ 
mittee,” Craig put in quietly, “ but Miss Gordon is 
going with me.” 

The colonel adjusted his monocle more firmly, and 
favored him with a stony stare. 

“ Really now,” he drawled, “ but that’s unfortunate 
—for me, of course! ” 

But Gloria interrupted him. Craig had betrayed 
altogether too much assurance, and she revelled in the 
opportunity of taking him down a peg by playing one 
against the other. She shook a reproving finger at him. 

“ You negligent boy! ” she laughed mischievously, 
“ why, you haven’t even asked me yet! ” 


88 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


Now John Craig had not been negligent. Love and 
the ring had been uppermost in his mind, and he pre¬ 
sumed that the role of a fiance carried with it the 
exclusive right to act as her escort. 

“ I ask you now,” he said earnestly. 

She glanced uncertainly from one to the other, and 
her apparent indecision nettled him. 

“ It is my right” he added impetuously. 

“ Right! ” echoed the colonel. “ Why—er—I 
really didn’t suppose for an instant that Miss Gordon 
wasn’t free to do as she liked—that any man had the 
exclusive right to her society! ” He studied his swag¬ 
ger stick with the apparent intention of covering his 
embarrassment. “ Indeed, I may be excused for ex¬ 
pressing my surprise, but it never occurred to me that 

a lady of Miss Gordon’s personality would submit-” 

As if he realized that his remark had been injudicious, 
he brought his hand up to his mouth. “ Oh, I beg your 
pardon, Miss Gordon, I have not received your answer ” 

Which of course decided the matter. She deter¬ 
mined to let Craig know, once for all, that being 
engaged didn’t imply ownership. It was too good an 
opportunity to let pass. He must thoroughly under¬ 
stand his position in the future. Besides the honor of 
leading a column of gold-bedecked officers and society 
ladies who were writhing with envy and jealousy was 
far preferable to holding a position several paces in 
the rear. She didn’t show any temper, for she thor¬ 
oughly enjoyed the situation. There was a thrill to it— 
and it pleased her vanity. 


WHEN THE RING ARRIVED 89 

“ The colonel has asked me first,” was her smiling 
decision, “ and I will go with him.” 

The colonel bowed ceremoniously. 

“ You have made me very happy, Miss Gordon.” 

Gloria watched Craig uneasily as he crossed to a 
rustic bench, and picked up his cap. He did this very 
deliberately that he might gain time to conceal the 
grievous hurt that her choice had given him. 

“ Pardon me for my presumption,” he said very 
quietly. “ I merit your punishment. And now, if you 
will excuse me, I must get back to the hospital! ” 

His hand snapped to a salute, and he whirled about 
and started for his horse. She watched him rather 
ruefully as he disappeared down the path that led 
to the Mall. 


CHAPTER III 

THE FALL OF AN IDOL 

The night of the regimental ball Craig sulked in 
his quarters. He had not seen Gloria since the episode 
in the garden, for he had angrily assured himself that 
he would never again lay himself open to the accusation 
of presuming an “ exclusive ” right to her society. An 
hour after he had left Gloria and Carringford in the 
garden his anger had cooled, and he was deluding 
himself with the idea that she had only meant to tease 
him, and that she would ultimately recall her promise 
to Carringford, and send him a penitent little note 
begging him to come to her. He could not see that 
this would cause her any embarrassment, for the 
announcement of their engagement would be an excuse 
to which the colonel could take no exception. But the 
note never came, and her not doing the thing that he 
thought she would do only added to his hurt—it was 
as keenly disappointing as her choice of escorts. 

He heard the regimental band playing in the huge 
ball-room of the hotel, and gloomily pictured the 
triumphant colonel hovering over Gloria and simpering 
his repertoire of silly compliments into her ear. He 
recalled the many wild tales of Carringford and his 
“ ways ” with women, and marvelled what influence 
had kept him in the army, and at the phenomenal luck 
that had saved him from a bullet or a knife. Dwelling 

90 


THE FALL OF AN IDOL 


9i 


on this “ reputation ” he worked himself into a fury 
of fear that swept away his faith in the strength of 
character of the girl. Self-pride alone saved him from 
making a fool of himself. It stifled his inclination to 
go to the ball and insisting upon her coming away with 
him, even if it caused a scene, even if he had to recount 
the nasty scandals in which Carringford had been 
involved, for it never occurred to him that she knew 
as much about these affairs as he, himself. 

He finally left his quarters, bareheaded, and wan¬ 
dered aimlessly through the deserted roadways, seeking 
distraction from the foreboding thoughts that now 
beset him. Chance directed his footsteps. He passed 
through the silent Mall, and up the hill to the cluster 
of bungalows. Gloria stood like a ghostly shadow in 
the murk of foliage, and there was no sign of life 
except far back in the garden—a dim light in the 
servants’ quarters. Even the sight of the deserted 
house —her home—was a solace to him, a salve for 
the oppressive loneliness that enmeshed him, and for a 
long time he stood there, leaning over the gate, and 
living again the many happy hours that had been his 
since the fateful day when she had introduced herself 
to him as a “ madcap.” When he finally turned away 
he had quite recovered his spirits. Carringford no 
longer loomed as a menace to him or a danger for her. 
Her choice of escorts became a “mischievous joke,” 
her silence a punishment that he richly deserved. To¬ 
morrow he would go to her and do whatever penance 
was required for absolution. He caught the air of 


92 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


a waltz that the band was playing, and whistled it as he 
went down the hill. 

Following a sudden impulse he turned into a path 
that led to the hotel gardens. It seemed to him quite 
possible that, by keeping well in the shadows, he could 
make his way unobserved to a large window that com¬ 
manded a view of the ball-room. He had no intention 
of spying. He only wanted a comforting glimpse of 
her before he returned to his quarters—to see how 
beautiful she was in this witchery of music, and tinsel, 
and lace. He knew that it was a perfectly ridiculous 
thing for him to do, but there was no one to call him 
a fool but himself. Just as he was cautiously nearing 
the window a door opened, and in the shaft of light he 
saw Gloria with Carringford at her heels. They came 
out on the hotel veranda and she was about to sit down 
on one of the settees when Carringford said something 
to her in a low voice. She laughed, and they both 
started down into the garden. They came directly 
toward him and he was compelled to dart behind the 
shrubbery to prevent them from seeing him. 

As they drew near he pressed close to the foliage, 
for he saw that his shadow was dimly outlined upon 
the ground and was fearful that it would betray him. 
Even then they could have seen it, for they passed 
within arm’s length of him. His breath came in quick 
gasps, his lungs pounding a vigorous protest against his 
effort to control it, for he expected each moment would 
bring the signal for his discovery. To his great relief 
they passed on, finally stopping within twenty feet of 


THE FALL OF AN IDOL 


93 


him, and behind the same group of shrubs that was fur¬ 
nishing him a refuge. Here they were in full view, 
though screened from the hotel. 

He saw her suddenly place a hand on Carringford’s 
arm and glance suspiciously about, her eyes resting so 
long upon the spot where he stood that his heart leaped 
with the fear that she had discovered him. 

“ Oh, it was wrong for me to come out here,” she 
exclaimed. “ Please let us go back! ” 

“ But why ? ” the colonel asked in surprise. 

“ I don’t know! Premonition, presentiment, what 
you will! I have a feeling that I can’t explain! It 
frightens me! Suppose—suppose some one should see 
us here? What could I say? What could I do? ” 

Carringford’s laugh was low and insinuating. 

“ Craig? ” 

“ No-o! ” she replied a bit uncertainly, “ and yet— 
somehow—I have an intuitive warning that he—he is 
not far off! Oh, if he should-” 

“ Pshaw! You have no reason to be nervous. 
Craig is doubtless in his quarters or at the hospital. 
Why worry your head about him? As for Mrs. 
Grundy—she is in there and thoroughly enjoying her 
own little affairs.” 

“ And her principal enjoyment seems to be Gloria 
Gordon,” she said bitterly. “ They are talking, wick¬ 
edly, insinuating the most shameful things about us, 
and they are taking no pains to lower their voices when 
I am near them! Surely you have heard them ? Oh, I 



94 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


would have left long ago if it hadn’t been for the 

humiliation of being driven out by-” 

“ You are letting the cats get on your nerves, my 
dear! Come, come, let’s forget them! Isn’t this the 
first moment that we have had together all the evening 
that we could call our own? My moment! You cer¬ 
tainly don’t begrudge me that? ” 

“ No, but-” 

“ You do care for me just a little? ” 

“ Why yes, certainly, or I wouldn’t be with you! ” 
“ And I love you, you wonderful girl, and my love 
is generous—it leaves you free! Surely then you can 
give me a little of your time—alone—and allow no 
thought of Craig or any other to mar the few minutes 
of happiness allotted me? Can’t you, Gloria? ” 

Her reply was a whisper that Craig could not hear, 
and he saw Carringford draw her into his arms, saw 
her lips meet his without resistance, saw that fears, 
premonition, gossip, were forgotten in the ecstacy of 
her passion. The unexpectedness of it stunned him. It 
was as if a sword had struck at him out of the dark, 
and the curtains of blackness had closed up again, 
giving him no chance to defend himself. Whatever 
came afterwards he neither saw nor heard. His one 
thought was to get away, for his soul was inflamed 
with a murderous impulse fast leaping beyond 
his control. 

Back in his quarters he gave full vent to his rage, 
walking the floor like a wild man. A dozen resolutions 
were solemnly made, amended, and discarded. Suicide, 



THE FALL OF AN IDOL 


95 


murder, resigning his commission and leaving India, 
all had their turn. But with all his storming, in the 
intervals when his tortured mind was dwelling on 
Gloria alone, her “ spirit of mischief,” her teasing 
coquetry, seemed a logical explanation for her sur¬ 
render to Carringford’s caresses and, undoubtedly, if 
she had come to him at that moment he would have 
forgotten and forgiven everything, so great was 
his infatuation. 

A loud thumping at the door brought an end to his 
wild pacing. At first he determined to pay no attention 
to it, but it became so persistent, so emphatically admit¬ 
ting of no refusal, and repeated again and again with 
such increasing violence, that he jerked the door open 
in sheer desperation. It was Major Gridley who teet¬ 
ered in unsteadily with a salute that almost threw him 
off his feet. Now Gridley was loquacious, and a hun¬ 
dred per cent, insult proof when in his cups, and despite 
Craig’s protests that it was late and he wished to 
retire, he waved him unceremoniously aside and, 
sprawling contentedly into a chair, vociferously pro¬ 
claimed his thirst. 

“ Mos’ ’trocious c’lamity,” he sputtered, “ but I’m 
shimpashetic feller offisher, an’ I wan’ a drink! ” 

Craig betrayed no curiosity about the calamity, for 
he was anxious to get rid of him. He impatiently 
strode to a cellaret and brought back a decanter and 
glass, plumping them down before his unwel¬ 
come visitor. 

“ Shanks! ” Gridley grinned at him and, unsteadily 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


96 

filling the glass, he tossed it off at a gulp, following 
with an unsuccessful attempt to wipe his mouth with 
the back of his hand. He leaned back in his chair and 
squinted at Craig through half-closed eyes. 

“ Mos’ ’trocious c’lamity! ” he again declared. 

Craig was again pacing the floor, and he skidded 
back and forth on his chair in an effort to follow 
his movements. 

“ ’Tenshun! ” he finally bellowed. “ Companee— 
Halt! Hell! Makes me dizzy! Fm shimpashetic 
feller oflisher, but not a dam’ teetotum, no shir! ” 

Craig stopped in his tracks and glared at him. 

“If you don’t like it, Gridley, you can get out!” 
he snapped angrily. 

Gridley arose uncertainly to his feet and placed a 
hand on Craig’s shoulder, partly in a pacifying spirit, 
partly as a means of support. Craig scowlingly turned 
his face away but Gridley twisted his head and shoul¬ 
ders around until he could look up in the surgeon’s face. 

“ Now, now, Major, I’m shimpashetic feller oflisher, 
an’ you—you are a bird on a limb ”—he stopped with 
a perplexed scowl—“ no—no—you are a bee on—on 
a shingle, yes shir, a bee on a shingle, an’ you mus’n 
get mad at old Grid! You didn’ go to the ball? ” 

“ No! ” 

“ I did! Saw Carringford an’ your girl there! ” 

“ I know, I know! Let’s not talk about it! ” 

“ Got to! Shimpashetic feller offlsher! Let’s have 
a drink!” 


THE FALL OF AN IDOL 


97 

“You’ve had enough! You had better go to 
your quarters! ” 

“No shir! No shir! Never have ’nough when 
I’m shorry for frien’ of mine! ’S only way I can 
con-control my emoshuns! Huh! ’S hell of a ball! ” 
he growled contemptuously. “ Every old she-wasp 
gabbing about Carringford taking your girl away 
from you! Tickled ’em to death! Laughed at you, 
Johnny, gave you the rash—rashberry! Old Hicks said 
your love affair was all over but the posh mortum! 
Old ass! Had to take a whole lot of drinks to keep 
from pulling the nose of my ’sperior offisher! ’S fact! ” 

Craig had released himself from Gridley’s clinging 
arms, and was again pacing the floor. Gridley watched 
him with a ludicrous expression of pity, his head wag¬ 
ging solemnly, and two big tears coursing down 
his cheeks. 

“’S too bad, ’s too bad, Johnny! Dam’ skunk, 
Carringford! Ruined the life of besht little woman in 
England. Wan’ know shecret, Johnny? It’ll s’prise 
you! Lishen! He’s my brother-in-law! ” 

“Your brother-in-law?” Craig exclaimed in 
astonishment. 

This set Gridley’s garrulity galloping. 

“’Sh! It’s a shecret! Never tell anybody! Jus’ 
keep it to yourshelf! ’S hell of a disgrace! I never tell 
anybody, no shir, an’ he—I told him if he ever men¬ 
tioned it I’d kill him—an’ I would! I’d blow his brash 
buttons clean through his belly, yes shir! We only 
shpeak in the line of duty—an’ little of that! He knows 
7 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


98 

better! My shister jus’ dug up a dam’ parshnip when 
she married him, jus’ a little school girl with an ass 
of a brother that didn’t know enough to stop it! ” 

He turned to the decanter, but Craig took it from 
him with a gesture of refusal and carried it back to 
the cellaret. Gridley made no protest but sank back 
in his chair. 

“Your sister divorced him?” Craig questioned 
quietly, for the recital had stilled the tempest within 
him, and his hope had flamed with the thought of the 
probable effect of the news on Gloria. Gridley shook 
his head. 

“ Religious little puss! You know —‘ whom God 
hath joined ’! Shilly rot, blaming it on God’lmighty,” 
he said disgustedly. “ She left him. His family 
wanted to make her an allowance. Huh! As if they 
could fling their shillings at Jim Gridley’s shister! ” 

He nodded off in a drowse and Craig shook him. 

“ Guess you’d better go to your quarters, Grid! ” 
he said gently. 

He assisted the major to his feet, and led him to the 
door and out upon the porch, again receiving the infor¬ 
mation that “ She jus’ dug up a dam’ parshnip, 
tha’s all! ” 

He watched Gridley as he made his way unsteadily 
down the roadway, and he was just a little ashamed that 
he had been so brusque in his welcome, or rather lack 
of welcome, to this rough explosive companion-at-arms 
who had given such a convincing proof of his friend¬ 
ship. His arrival had found Craig in a condition that 


THE FALL OF AN IDOL 


99 


bordered on lunacy, his mind gnarled and twisted in 
an agony of jealousy and wounded pride. His depart¬ 
ure had left him with a clear vision and a repose of 
spirit, a feeling that his romance had only suffered 
a temporary snarl that the morning would unravel, and 
that ever afterward it would run smoothly on to the 
happy termination that he had dreamed of. “ Shimpa- 
shetic feller offisher,” he repeated softly to himself as 
he saw Gridley disappear into his quarters, “ I must 
never forget what I owe him.” Lost in a flood of 
happy reflections, he paid no attention to the purr 
of a motor and the flare of headlights as it glided by, 
but when he turned to his door, he saw that it had come 
to a stop before the colonel’s quarters, a few rods 
away and on the opposite side of the road. 

A native chauffeur got out and swung open the 
tonneau door. Carringford followed and turned to 
assist a woman to alight. The motor was then driven 
on a short distance. It was stopped in the shadows 
at the end of the roadway and the lights were snapped 
out. Craig uttered an exclamation of amazement, for, 
even at the distance and in the darkness, it was impos¬ 
sible not to recognize the athletic stride of Gloria as 
she entered the colonel’s quarters. He had believed her 
thoughtless, a little cruel to others in following her 
inclinations, coquettish, yes, for he had suffered from 
it, but all this he had attributed to her youth and the 
babying adoration of men. But that she would deliber¬ 
ately defy conventions and compromise herself by 
going to a man’s rooms late at night was so unbelievable 


100 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


that he was utterly crushed and dumbfounded. Then 
came his renunciation. His rage had spent itself, and 
he was weary of it all. With a gesture of surrender 
to the hopelessness of the situation, he again turned 
toward his door. With his hand on the knob he 
stopped impulsively. Even if his romance had come 
to an end, he loved her too devotedly to see her fling 
herself to social destruction without making a heroic 
attempt to save her. With this resolve came 
action, and he darted diagonally across to the 
coloners quarters. 

Carringford had neglected to lock his door, and 
Craig threw it open, stepped quickly in, and drove it 
shut with a backward kick. Carringford, after remov¬ 
ing Gloria’s cloak had thrown it across the back of a 
divan. He was now standing at the buffet, and was in 
the act of opening a bottle of champagne. Gloria was 
lazily lying back in the depths of an arm chair. At 
Craig’s entrance she had sprung to her feet with a 
cry of dismay, and was grasping the back of the chair 
for support. Carringford’s mouth was ridiculously 
ajar, and he blinked owlishly at Craig. Even his speech 
was beyond control, and confined exclusively to a 
stuttering volley of “ ahs,” “ ohs,” and “ by gads.” 

“ Wha—wha—what do you—you mean, sir,” he 
finally managed to bluster, “ by impudently bursting 
through my door unannounced and uninvited? G-go 
back to your quarters, sir, at once! ” 

Without replying Craig crossed the room, picked 
up the cloak from the divan, and turned to Gloria, who 


THE FALL OF AN IDOL 


IOI 


stood with her eyes cast down, her cheeks flaming with 
humiliation and shame. 

“ You are going home, at once,” he said sternly. 
He placed the cloak across her shoulders and strode 
back to the door. She glanced uncertainly at 
Carringford, but he was twisting nervously about feel¬ 
ing that he should say or do something but too flabber¬ 
gasted to determine what it should be. His monocle 
was perturbing him, too—it wouldn’t stick where he 
put it. 

She tried to speak, but her lips moved soundlessly 
and, covering her face with her hands and choking 
back the sobs, she weakly crossed to the door. With 
a shrug of his shoulders, Carringford picked up his 
cap and started to follow, but Craig peremptorily 
ordered him back. 

“ Stay where you are, you cad! ” he snapped, “ Miss 
Gordon will go alone! ” 

Gloria threw her arms around him, sobbing her 
excuses. 

“ I shouldn’t have come here,” she exclaimed hys¬ 
terically. “ I know it, oh, I know it! It was a mad 
freak that I can’t explain—but I had no intention of 
doing wrong. You believe that, John, surely you do, 
you must! Your love is strong enough not to condemn 
me for such a silly little thing! ” 

But he contemptuously disengaged himself, and 
threw open the door. 

“ You will find the motor a little way down the 
road,” he told her coldly. 


102 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


When she had gone he slammed the door shut and 
listened until the whir of the motor told him that she 
was on her way. Carringford had managed to regain 
a portion of his habitual insolence and he laughed, a 
laugh that he meant to be jovial, but he was a bit uncer¬ 
tain that he was intriguing Craig with his humor. 

“ A duecedly awkward situation but you carried it 
magnificently,” he exclaimed, “ and I congratulate you 
even if I am one of your—er—victims! Oh, I hold 
no grudge! Not at all! Even if you have been a little 
impudent to your superior officer. Now you are a man 
of the world—and sensible, by jove,” he grinned amia¬ 
bly, “and of course you don’t blame me for taking 
advantage of the frailties of such a pretty girl?” 
Then Craig struck out. It was a smashing blow, and 
behind it was all the pent-up rage that had been con¬ 
suming him from the first note of the orchestra that 
had whined out a requiem to all his hopes of happiness. 
It took the colonel on the point of his chin and sent 
him crashing to the floor, his head striking a corner of 
an iron safe that stood at one side of the room. With¬ 
out a glance at the sprawled figure that lay so ominously 
quiet, Craig turned on his heel, and passed through 
the door. 


CHAPTER IV 


THE COURT-MARTIAL 

Early the next morning Nanak Singh came to 
Gridley’s quarters. He was so gruff and scowled so 
fiercely that Ram, the major’s man, was unable to 
muster the courage to tell him that the Sahib Major 
could not be disturbed, that he invariably appeared at 
a certain minute, and visitors must wait until that 
minute had arrived. This was the major’s imperative 
order, and it wasn’t very pleasant to have a boot thrown 
at one’s head, especially if the boot carried a spur—a 
habit of the major’s unless Ram remembered to put his 
boots out of his reach. As it was, he hesitated so 
long that the impatient Sikh strode threateningly 
towards him. 

“ Must I put speed in your legs ? ” he exclaimed 
angrily. “Go! Tell the Sahib Major it is Nanak 
Singh! Tell him that I must speak with him at once, 
that the matter is urgent.” 

Ram vanished, and the Sikh crossed to the window 
and stood, with arms folded, looking gloomily out into 
the roadway. From the adjoining room came a husky 
roar from Gridley, the thud of something against the 
wall, and Ram’s voice shrilly piping the Sikh’s message. 
Then the hindoo came back, and salaamed with becom¬ 
ing gravity. His eyes held a triumphant glitter, for 
he had managed to duck the boot. 

103 


104 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


“ The Sahib Major says to wait,” he said, and 
disappeared. 

When the major came in he was hastily drawing 
on his coat. He bore no evidence of his little “ tope ” 
of the night before, or that he had just been aroused 
from sleep. He was wide awake and ready for action, 
and a little concerned about the object of the Sikh’s 
call, for Nanak Singh was not given to frivolous 
things, and he knew that only some serious matter 
would have brought him to his quarters. They ex¬ 
changed salutes and he motioned the Sikh to a chair. 

“Well, Ressaldar Major, what’s on your mind?” 
he asked. 

“ I have just stationed a guard at Sahib Major 
Craig’s quarters! ” 

Gridley stared at him unbelievingly, his brows con¬ 
tracted into a puzzled frown. 

“ Say that again, please! ” 

“A guard at Sahib Major Craig’s quarters,” the 
Sikh repeated, “ he has been placed under arrest! ” 

“Arrest? Johnny Craig under arrest? Good 
God, what for ? ” 

“ Assaulting a superior officer and—worse! ” 

Major Gridley’s hands clawed vigorously through 
his hair, he stared searchingly about the room, and 
then at Nanak Singh. 

“ Well! ” he said grimly, “ I’m here, and you’re 
here, and you don’t look like anything that I have ever 
seen in a dream, so I think that I can consider myself 


THE COURT-MARTIAL 


io 5 

in a state of consciousness—barring my natural demen¬ 
tia. Perhaps you had better give me all the details.” 

“Very early this morning, the chuprassie of Sahib 
Colonel Carringford found him lying unconscious 
before the safe in his quarters with a gash in the side of 
his head. The safe door was wide open and its contents 
scattered about the floor. The chuprassie ran out of 
the house, arousing the families of several officers with 
his screams as he raced for Sahib Major Craig. But 
the Sahib Major was not there—or did not answer. 
In the meantime the Sahib General had arrived with 
one of the company surgeons. After the cut was 
dressed, the Sahib Colonel was questioned. “ I was 
there! ” the Sikh’s eyes snapped angrily. “ Krishna, 
how he lied! I know it, for he had the eyes of a 
cobra when he told it—a cobra that is about to strike! ”, 
his lips twisted contemptuously, “ and the poor worms 
believed him.” 

“You mean that he lied about Major Craig? ” 

“ May I be yoked to a bullock if it is not so! He 
said that he had been awakened in the night by a noise, 
that he had gotten out of bed and had made his way 
cautiously into the office. As he snapped on a light 
he saw a man kneeling before the safe. It was open, 
and papers and books were scattered about the floor. 
He had caught only a flash of this for the moment he 
snapped on the light the man had hurled himself upon 
him. He had no time to defend himself. He had been 
struck down, and supposed that he had lost conscious- 


io6 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


ness, for he remembered nothing that had occurred 
from then until the time that he found them bending 
over him. They asked him if he knew the man. He 
hesitated—but they did not see the look of triumph in 
his eyes. He said that he had recognized him—a 
brother officer that he had always held in the highest 
esteem. It filled him with such sorrow that he would 
rather let the matter rest. Of course they insisted—as 
he knew they would—and he gave the name—as he 
intended to! ” 

“ And you mean to tell me that he accused Johnny 
Craig? ” Gridley fairly thundered the question. 

The Sikh nodded. 

“ Wha—why—the—the God damned lying cur, the 
—the—” but the Major’s outburst ended in an inco¬ 
herent sputter, and, for sheer dearth of words that 
were expressive enough to suit him, he beat the top 
of his desk with his fist and hurled books and papers 
about the room. Then he thought of the safe. 

“ The safe,” he roared, “ what about that? ” 

“ They checked the contents. Carringford said that 
a hundred pounds were missing, a portion of a regi¬ 
mental fund—and again I knew he lied! ” 

For a time Gridley sat as one utterly confounded 
by the tragedy of the affair. He, too, believed that 
Carringford had lied. He had too great a faith in 
Craig to believe otherwise. But Carringford was 
clever. He had taken advantage of some truth to 
build up his sinister story. He had seized upon some 


THE COURT-MARTIAL 


107 


impulsive act of Craig’s and created a syrt of convinc¬ 
ing details into which the surgeon would be engulfed. 
Question after question leaped through the major’s 
mind. What was this truth? What had Craig really 
done? That he had struck him, perhaps—yet this 
seemed so unlikely of this soft speaking, unaggressive 
surgeon. That he had taken a single shilling from 
Carringford’s safe was too preposterous to be given 
any consideration whatever. This nut had a kernel, 
if they could only crack it. 

“ There is a key to this puzzling situation,” he 
finally exclaimed, “you believe that, Nanak Singh! 
Tell me—what do you think it is? ” 

“ Sahib Major,” he said impressively, “ the key is 
a woman —that Gordon girl! ” 

The major nodded a grim agreement. A quarrel 
over this girl seemed to be the only logical conclusion. 
But why this detail of the looted safe? Even the 
psychic Nanak Singh could find no answer for that. 

“ What does Major Craig say? ” Gridley asked. 

“Nothing! He is strangely silent. He wants to 
see you. The Sahib General said that you should go 
to him.” 

Gridley quickly rose to his feet and picked up his 
cap from the table. 

“ You had better come with me,” he said, “ perhaps, 
when we get his story, we may find a way to get him 
out of this damnable mess.” 

When they reached Craig’s quarters, they found 


io8 PANDORA LA CROIX 

him apparently unperturbed over his serious situation— 
ominously so, Gridley thought. He greeted them cord¬ 
ially, motioned them to seats, and was about to bring 
the decanter from the cellaret, but Gridley motioned 
it away. 

“ I asked Nanak Singh to come with me,” he said. 
“ I did not think that you would object.” 

“ Not at all! I am glad that he is here.” 

“ The Ressaldar Major tells me that you wished to 
see me ? ” 

“ It was kind of the general to relay the wish. I 
suppose that you have heard the news, and know of 
the mess that I am in. I shall need some one 
to handle my case when it comes before the court- 
martial. I thought of you. Of course, if it is at 
all distasteful-” 

“Distasteful!” Gridley echoed. “You know bet¬ 
ter, my friend! Although I have no confidence in my 
ability as an advocate, I will be happy to do anything 
that you wish me to do.” 

“ I knew you would, Grid! ” He laughed a little 
dryly. “ I am asking you to father a forlorn hope, 
though. I have been reviewing all the unpleasant de¬ 
tails and—well, I am afraid that you will lose your case. 
The outlook isn’t at all promising.” 

Gridley stared at him in astonishment. 

“ Surely you are not guilty of these charges ? ” 
he exclaimed. 

“Of striking him, yes. Of the supposed breaking 
into his safe, no. I really can’t understand that phase 



THE COURT-MARTIAL 


109 

of his accusation,” he shrugged his shoulders indiffer¬ 
ently. “ However, he’s made it.” 

“ Did you have a quarrel ? ” 

Craig laughed ironically. 

“ You would hardly call it that.” 

“ But why did you strike him? ” 

Craig’s jaws came together with a determined snap. 

“ You will pardon me but—I do not wish to answer 
that question.” 

“ But when you come before the court-martial you 
will be asked why you went to Carringford’s quarters, 
why you struck him,” Gridley persisted. 

“ I shall not answer! ” 

“ But good God, man, that would be your defense, 
the only defense against the charge of breaking into that 
safe! Can’t you see that? ” 

“ I shall simply deny it! ” Craig said impatiently. 

“ Your denial would be of no value unless you gave 
the reason for your being there. You were there—and 
that is damning. Your reasons, Craig, why did you 
go there ? ” 

“ I have told you that I would not answer that 
question.” 

“ I cannot understand you,” Gridley exclaimed, 
completely nonplussed at Craig’s strange attitude. He 
glanced at him sharply. “ Perhaps it is your inten¬ 
tion to make Carringford prove that you were in 
his quarters, and that you struck him? If he has 
no witnesses-” 

“ Surely, Grid, you credit me with as much moral 


no 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


courage as brute courage?” Craig said in smiling 
reproof. “Of course I shall admit that I was there, 
and that I struck him. The why doesn’t matter. Nor 
am I at all penitent.” 

Gridley glanced toward Nanak Singh. He felt that 
he needed support to combat this astounding stubborn¬ 
ness. One of the Sikh’s eyelids fluttered. It was barely 
perceptible but Gridley intuitively guessed its prompt¬ 
ing. He turned on Craig and abruptly shot his bolt. 

“ Why are you vicariously sacrificing yourself 
for this girl ? ” he sharply demanded. 

Craig stiffened and grew white about the lips—and 
Gridley knew that he had hit the target. But Craig 
quickly recovered his poise. 

“ What girl? ” he asked in apparent surprise. 

“ The Gordon girl,” Nanak Singh put in quietly. 

“ Nonsense! It’s ridiculous!” he retorted, trying 
hard to prevent a flare of temper from creeping into 
his voice. “ There is no girl in it—Miss Gordon or 
any other. The matter is entirely between Carringford 
and myself. Understand this, Grid, I refuse, positively, 
to have Miss Gordon drawn into the case. That 
is final! ” 

“ Well—I will respect your wishes, of course,” 
Gridley said with a deep sigh. “ I will do all I can 
for you—you know that. But I will tell you this, 
if you insist upon maintaining the stand you are now 
taking nothing can save you! The judgment of the 
court-martial will be against you—your straps will be 
torn from your shoulders—you will be degraded, man, 


THE COURT-MARTIAL 


hi 


and you will spend the rest of your life in the Andaman 
penal settlement. And that’s final!” 

Craig stood for some time staring into vacancy. 
His face had turned ashen gray, his jaws were firmly 
set, and his lips drawn into a thin line. They both 
watched him, hoping that the all too apparent struggle 
would end in a change of his inexplicable decision. But 
he only shrugged his shoulders indifferently. 

“ They need doctors there,” he said with a 
wry laugh. 

Although Major Gridley had promised not to bring 
Gloria Gordon into the case, he decided that Craig could 
make no objections to her bringing herself in. Cer¬ 
tainly if they were engaged she would be willing to do 
all she could for him. If a quarrel had resulted because 
of her, she would be able to give testimony that would 
play havoc with Carringford’s accusations. Nanak 
Singh agreed with him. 

“ The girl knows! ” he declared. “ There was no 
man at the safe! There was no money taken! Even 
his unconsciousness was feigned! He scattered the 
papers himself to give the appearance of burglary. 
It was revenge for the blow. The safe was an old iron 
box that locked with a key that he says he kept in his 
desk. His desk—with much money in the safe? Bah! 
He is not such a fool! ” 

The night before, Gloria Gordon had reached her 
home in an agony of hysteria, but it had soon given 
place to a tumult of rage at Craig’s presumption in 
“ spying ” on her, and driving her so ignominiously 


112 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


from Carringford’s quarters. She determined that his 
ring would go back to him in the morning with a curt 
note breaking their engagement. But the note was 
never sent, for the next morning brought the news of 
Craig’s trouble, his arrest, and the astounding accu¬ 
sation that she could not understand. It was a shock, 
it is true, but her own precarious position was para¬ 
mount to any thought of him. If she was drawn into 
the scandalous affair, if Craig told of her indiscretion, 
or Carringford, she saw herself catapulting into social 
ruin. She would be scorned by the women, and ridi¬ 
culed by even the men who had capered at her heels. 
She was in the midst of these volcanic reflections when 
her chuprassie announced that Major Gridley was at 
the door. 

She knew that he was Craig’s friend, that his call 
could have but one object, and her impulse was to 
scream an angry refusal to see him. But her good sense 
prevailed. She determined to make him wait until she 
had become quite calm, and then she would trust to 
her wits to get her out of the scrape that she was in. 
She told her chuprassie to show the major in, and hur¬ 
ried to her dressing table. Her ayah might have told 
a sad story of the things that happened in the next 
forty-five minutes, for that was the time that 
Gridley waited. 

When she finally came into the living room she 
was quite at her ease, and evidently bent upon making 
a good impression. Facial mechanics had removed all 
traces of her conflicting emotions—humiliation, fear, 


THE COURT-MARTIAL 


113 

anger—and her gown had been cleverly chosen—a sim¬ 
ple thing in white that was startlingly suggestive of 
“ innocence.’ , Gridley was punctiliously polite and 
soft spoken. It would have been a treat for his Tom¬ 
mies. But he would have explained that he had “ a cat 
to skin ” and didn’t want the cat to object, so he had 
smoothed her down a bit. When he thought the time 
was ripe, he got down to the matter that had brought 
him there. 

“ You are a friend of Major Craig’s,” he began. 

“ Why—yes! ” she drawled it very prettily. 

“ You know that grave charges have been pre¬ 
ferred against him ? ” 

Her answer was coldly matter of fact, and betrayed 
no interest. 

“ I suppose that there isn’t a person in the station 
that hasn’t heard of them. Of course I—I am very 
sorry for Major Craig.” 

“Enough to help him if you could?” he asked 
earnestly. 

Her eyes flashed open, wonderingly, with just a 
hint of surprise. 

“I? ButhowcanI?” 

“ I don’t know,” he frankly admitted, “ I thought 
that, perhaps, you might know something that we might 
hang a hope upon. Major Craig visited you. You 
often rode out together. For several weeks he has been 
your escort—your constant companion”—he paused 
for a moment, then added significantly—“ except on 
one occasion, the regimental ball.” 

8 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


114 

If he expected her to betray herself he was dis¬ 
appointed. Her laugh was low, and tantalizing. 

“ Surely, Major,” she said with a little pout, “ you 
don’t deny me the privilege of accepting any gentleman 
as my escort? ” 

“ No, no! Not at all! But—suppose Major Craig 
considered that he had a paramount right and-” 

“ Surely he has not inferred-” She was just 

a little petulant now. 

“ I assure you that he has not mentioned you in 
connection with the case.” 

She sighed with apparent relief, and cuddled back 
in her chair. 

“ Oh, I didn’t think he would—he—he couldn’t.” 

“ But we do not believe that his visit to Colonel 
Carringford’s quarters was for the purpose of breaking 
into his safe. There was no reason for that. He had 
no pressing debts, and more than sufficient money for 
his needs. We admit that he went there, that for some 
reason he lost his temper and struck the colonel. Un¬ 
fortunately h erefuses to tell us what that reason was.” 

“ Ah, I was wondering why you didn’t ask him! ” 
It was a malicious little thrust, but her relief had 
not escaped him. 

“ We can reach no other conclusion than that they 
quarrelled over—a woman ” he went on, a little angrily 
for his temper was rocking, “ and that this woman can 
do a great deal toward clearing the major of the infa¬ 
mous charge of safe-breaking, and furnish a mitigating 
excuse for the assault.” 



THE COURT-MARTIAL 


ii 5 

“ And this woman that you are speaking of ? ” her 
voice now had an ominous drawl. 

“ Frankly, the lady that Colonel Carringford 
escorted to the ball— yourself” 

His blunt statement cut her to the quick, and she 
flared angrily. 

“ How dare you suggest such a thing,” she ex¬ 
claimed imperiously. “ It isn’t fair, it isn’t chivalrous 
to drag me into the horrid affair! I—I had nothing 
to do with it—nothing at all! If Major Craig is in 
trouble it is his own fault. Because of—my unfortu¬ 
nate acquaintance with him, my accepting him as my 
escort on a few occasions, or receiving him here, does 
that give the inference that I have any knowledge of 
the reason for his brutal attack upon Colonel 
Carringford, or of his turning himself into a burglar? ” 

" Unfortunate acquaintance! ” Gridley explosively 
exclaimed, “ are you not engaged to marry Major 
Craig? ” 

“ Has he said so? ” 

There was no doubt of her anxiety now, but Gridley 
abhorred a lie. 

“ No,” he admitted. 

“ Then ask him! ” she retorted with a defiant laugh. 

She did not wait to call the chuprassie but went to 
the door herself and threw it open. She was a woman, 
and for once Major Gridley faced a situation that left 
him speechless. 

From that moment the Craig-Carringford case sped 
on to its inevitable end. There were many hot argu- 


116 PANDORA LA CROIX 

ments, even fistic encounters, both in the club and 
hotel; for, despite the weight of circumstantial evi¬ 
dence, Craig had many champions. The curious 
Renshaw offered him his services, and spent much of 
his time deducing impossible motives and following 
ridiculous clews. The bellicose Blagrove offered Craig 
the limit of his bank account as a defense fund, and 
openly declared his disbelief that there was even a shill¬ 
ing in Carringford’s safe. 

But opinions do not count in a court-martial. Nine 
officers composed it—five of them of Carringford’s 
clique. A Deputy Judge Advocate General came up 
from Headquarters to keep the wheels of justice prop¬ 
erly greased, and to see that the accused got what was 
coming to him. Carringford told his story with stud¬ 
ious hesitancy—which convinced the judges of his deep 
sympathy for the accused. He suavely and smilingly 
dodged Gridley’s hammering attacks, and left the stand 
with his usual unruffled sangfroid. Craig’s testimony 
was brief. He admitted the assault but stubbornly 
refused to give his reason. The charge of safe¬ 
breaking he hotly denied. Miss Gordon’s name was 
not mentioned once during the proceedings. The judg¬ 
ment of the court was exactly as Gridley had predicted 
—public degradation, the tearing off of shoulder straps 
and cutting off of buttons, and transportation to the 
penal settlement on the Andaman Islands. 


CHAPTER V 


THE ESCAPE 

His patient was a Sikh—a sergeant in the native 
troop that guarded the convict settlement. The injury 
was a bruised hand that needed but a simple dressing, 
a mere excuse, for the Sikh had whispered a message 
from Nanak Singh. How the message had reached 
the Andamans was a mystery that John Craig made no 
attempt to solve. He knew that it had been relayed 
across India—one native whispering it to another—and 
that was all. 

Perhaps Blagrove, the bellicose, could have told 
something about that message, but one would have been 
several kinds of a fool to ask him, for Blagrove was 
red headed and had freckles, and a man with red hair 
and freckles is liable to be very tabascoish if one betray 
too much interest in his affairs. Anyhow, Blagrove 
made a trip to Calcutta, and went down to the Hoogly 
docks to visit an acquaintance of his—one Fung Shui, 
a Chinaman. When he returned from his trip he was 
closeted a long time with Nanak Singh—and that same 
night the message started. 

A few hours after his patient had delivered the 
message, John Craig was passing native guards who 
turned their backs upon him. He went on, blindly 
trusting to the mysterious friends who were guiding 
him to freedom. If he became puzzled at the twist 
of a path some invisible one whispered a word that set 


Ii 8 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


him right. He passed through a clump of padouk 
brush and along the edge of a mangrove swamp. Finally 
he reached the sea. 

With growing impatience he stared into the wall of 
blackness. Minutes had passed when he uttered an 
exclamation of relief. Far out he saw a faint blur 
and, without hesitation, he plunged in and swam for 
it. It was a long, gruelling tug and at times he was 
compelled to float on his back to rest himself. But he 
reached it at last. A rope was thrown to him and he 
was drawn on deck. Then the sails were noiselessly 
hoisted on Fung Shui’s junk, and the vessel put to sea. 


PART THREE 


The Wordly Hope men set their 
Hearts upon 

Turns Ashes—or it prospers; and anon , 
Like Snow upon the Desert's 
dusty face , 

Lighting a little hour or two—is 
gone. 


Omar Khayyam 






CHAPTER I 


THE WHIM OF AN ECCENTRIC 

Clay sat at a table in Tahiti Tom’s, the girl before 
him, immovable, her eyes never leaving his face. Order 
had been restored; a couple of chairs and a table that 
had been reduced to kindlings under the catapulted 
impact of “G’rilla” Bagsley’s hurtling body had been 
removed; Tahiti Tom had come from his cubby, casting 
back a reproachful glance at his joss; the little trader, 
whose experience with the bully had been so ignomin¬ 
ious, was now buying drinks for the “orchestra,” one 
of whom was casting accusing glances at Clay’s broad 
back as he whined a querulous lament over an accor¬ 
dion that had explosively collapsed under one of 
“G’rilla’s” flailing feet. 

Business had started up with a spurt that brought 
back Tom’s cackling good humor. The Magyar was 
sliding filled mugs through the slush of the bar with 
the rhythm of an automaton. Barmaids scurried from 
table to table, flinging back brazen retorts to the im¬ 
patient roars of the gabbling rabble who had scram¬ 
bled back to their seats, with throats clamoring for 
lubrication, as the thoroughly thrashed “G’rilla” had 
volplaned head over heels into the roadway. 

In one corner sat Toni, a discredited Don Juan. 
He was unresponsive to the urge of his companions to 
drink and be merry, for he was gloomily reflecting upon 


122 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


both the possibilities and probabilities of the warm 
reception that Mimi would give him when he came 
within the shadow of his own vine and fig tree. He 
promised himself that never again would he become 
enmeshed in the snares of a woman. They were tor¬ 
menting devils, and not worth the snap of his finger. 
Hereafter he would be satisfied with the one he had, 
even if she was fat and peppery. Having her, a man 
was a fool to want any other. But his eyes persisted 
in drifting Pan-ward. Ah, such a spritely little beauty, 
such a merry little devil, with her black eyes that were 
limpid as a pool in a bowl of coral, eyes that were 
bewitchingly winning, ever sparkling with mischief, 
and yet so meltingly tender at times, and her blue-black 
hair that was as soft and fine as the cocoon of a butter¬ 
fly, her ears that were as delicate as the shell of a paper 
nautilus, her seductive body with its sheen of satin and 
the smoothness of alabaster that set every nerve a-tingle. 
A “ pooh, pooh ” for Mimi! She was a torment, the 
snapping dragon of his fireside, while Pan—he drew 
a long disconsolate sigh, and wondered if she wasn’t 
just a wee bit sorry for having treated him so cruelly. 

But, however much that Toni was thinking of Pan, 
he had ceased to exist so far as she was concerned. 
When the fight was over, Clay had pointed to a 
chair and bluntly told her to sit down. He had 
said it without a smile, and with a snap that was 
far from encouraging. Anyone who had ever wanted 
Pan to do anything before had always had to talk 
very sweetly, coax long and arduously, argue down a 
multitude of objections, and agree to as many con- 


THE WHIM OF AN ECCENTRIC 123 

ditions, even, if it were something that she dearly 
wished to do. It was a little system by which those 
who begged for favors might appreciate the largesse 
of her concessions, and it gave her much giggling satis¬ 
faction. Now, for the first time in her life, she 
obeyed an order. She fairly precipitated herself into 
the chair and sat mute and primly upright, watching 
every expression of the grim-visaged man who had 
flung himself into a seat on the opposite side of 
the table. 

She knew that, sooner or later, he would look at 
her instead of staring into space, his eyes flaming with 
an inexorable passion. She wondered, when he did so, 
if the hard, cruel lines that netted them would dis¬ 
appear, if the flame would die out, if his stubborn, 
aggressive face would soften and break into smiles. 
Would he speak to her softly, kindly, or would his voice 
be sharp and rasping as it had been when he had so 
bluntly ordered her to sit down? And would she look 
good to him? 

A great fear gripped her as she realized that her 
dress was a tattered ruin, thanks to her fight with Mimi 
and her struggle with “ G’rilla.” One sleeve was gone, 
the other hung in ribbons, and in the skirt were a score 
of gaping holes. No doubt her hair was askew, her 
face begrimed. Even now, with eyes crossed, she 
contemplated with dismay a black smudge on the end of 
her nose. That spot was a calamity, the last straw, 
for it would surely make him laugh. Any girl would 
look like a fool with a spot on her nose, and if he 
laughed at her-. Oh, what she would not give for 


124 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


one short minute to primp up a bit, to rub out that 
awful spot, and if she only had a few pins to hide the 
tatters, and a flower, a flaming hibiscus, to nest in the 
blue-black of her hair, and then—one soul satisfying 
peek into the still clear waters of the pool that she 
knew so well, unto which she had so often ran that she 
might tell her troubles to a good Pan who popped to 
its surface and laughed with her over the intimate 
details of her triomphes d’amour, and was as enthusi¬ 
astic over her vain little hopes, her dreams, as herself. 
She wished herself at the pool now for the sympathy 
she so much needed but could only sit, pitifully forlorn, 
waiting for Clay to look and condemn. 

She told herself that she must be as quiet as a 
fish dozing in the mud of the lagoon. So she waited, 
breathlessly, conscious that her heart was pumping nois¬ 
ily, and fearful that it would disturb him, even arouse 
an angry order for her to keep it still. The “ duchess ” 
came to her and, with a seductive leer at Clay, bent 
down and whispered in her ear— 

“ Tom wants you! He has a friend-!” 

Pan paled, and, with an apprehensive glance toward 
Clay, gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head 
and an appealing gesture for her to go away. She was 
conscious of a stabbing emotion, something strange, 
inexplicable, that added to her misery and made her 
frightfully ashamed. 

But Clay had neither seen nor heard. The room 
was a blur, the moving figures but vague shadows, 
silhouettes a little darker than the sordid background. 
He was giving no thought to Pan, no thought to his 



THE WHIM OF AN ECCENTRIC 125 

recent fight for the name “ Carringford ” was still 
hammering in his brain, the face of Gloria smiling 
cynically at him through the mist of years. Only once 
his face lighted, when he thought of Gridley who wore 
the cross and had won the straps of a major in Afghan 
hills. Good old Gridley, the only officer in the regi¬ 
ment who, in defiance of conventions and the snobbish 
criticism of his fellow officers, had remained so 
staunchly loyal to him through all the awful scenes that 
had climaxed his life’s tragedy, and who, struggling 
to keep back the tears, had assured him that every 
Tommy in the regiment was with him to a man, and 
that it would be well for the “ prig ” if he never suc¬ 
ceeded in mustering up nerve enough to lead his regi¬ 
ment into action. If he did there was certain to be a 
vacancy among its commissioned officers. Where was 
Gridley now? Was he still a major? Was he still the 
same amiable nuisance when in his cups? 

Carringford? Was he still the regimental com¬ 
mandant? Was he still strutting among the women 
with that everlasting smirk, forever taking an imagi¬ 
native x-ray for hidden charms through that ridiculous 
monocle and looking for all the world like an ape squint¬ 
ing through a knot hole? Ten years —and Gloria! 
Was she still the same alluring beauty? Did men still 
rave over her, go mad for a smile, for a kiss on her 
finger tips, even as he? Was she still the deceitful 
cheat, the superlative falsehood, so capable of dealing 
deadly blows to their hearts, yet cringing from the 
slightest thrust that was aimed at the worthless thing 
that she called her reputation? Had Time and Re- 


126 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


morse branded her as Time and Hatred had branded 
him ? If there was a God she must have paid the score, 
and yet—he had many pleasant memories of her, of 
many Elysian hours spent in that old walled garden, 
and hoped that the lash fell lightly. 

Pan, watching the constantly changing expressions 
on his face, at first with a forboding fear, for she 
believed herself the subject of his thoughts, now intui¬ 
tively guessed that the mental tempest that was raging 
within him was caused by some great grief, some ter¬ 
rible thing that had happened to him. With eyes that 
were moist with tender sympathy, she fidgeted about 
in her chair, striving to gain courage, to find a word 
or two that would let him know that she was very 
sorry for him. She thought of the satyr in her pocket, 
and stealthily reached for it. With many misgivings, 
she slid it toward him across the table top. 

“ Yo’ look ver’ mad wiz somebody zat yo’ hate,” 
she faltered, “ an’ zis good little devil, mebbe she help 
yo’! Me, all time, like to-day! ” 

He stared at her so long, and with such a scowl, 
that she timidly drew it back, fearful that her pre¬ 
sumption had aroused his ire. 

His eyes slowly drifted from her to a close inspec¬ 
tion of the room, and his brows knit into a puzzled 
frown as the shadows apparently dissolved, and the 
cafe and its inmates came sharp and clear to his vision. 
With fingers raking nervously through his hair, he tried 
to solve the enigma of his presence here, of his absent- 
mindedly plunging along an unfrequented path into the 
nauseous reek of a filthy place that he had never entered 
before. The Lark had dropped anchor in the harbor 


THE WHIM OF AN ECCENTRIC 127 

and he had left for the landing place in the small boat! 
Why ? Why had he come to the harbor at all! The 
whole proceeding was incomprehensible and utterly 
silly. Of course there was that newspaper clipping 
that had driven him into an ungovernable fury, but it 
was ridiculous to imagine that a fit of temper would 
have rendered him temporarily insane. Yet here he 
was, like a night-stalking somnambulist who had sud¬ 
denly been awakened. 

He tried to recall his actions from the time he left 
the schooner, and out of the maze came the spectacle 
of an abdominous brute that had ordered him out of his 
way, and a terrorized girl crouching against the wall. 
His eyes drifted back to Pan, and he studied her for a 
moment. Finally he spoke and, to her great relief, his 
voice was neither sharp nor rasping. 

“ Who are you? ” he asked. 

She swallowed hard, her fingers nervously folding 
over the ragged edges of a huge tear in her waist. 

“ Pan, me! ” she answered diffidently. 

“ Is that all, just Pan? ” 

“ Sometime eet ees Pandora! ” 

He nodded gravely. 

“ Ah yes, the girl that Vulcan made. ,, 

“ Who? ” she raised her voice in astonishment. 

“ Vulcan—he was a blacksmith.” 

“ How yo’ know zat? ” she demanded'incredulously. 

“ Oh, I heard it a long time ago.” 

There was a sharp intake of her breath. 

“ Ees yo’ ver’ sure? ” 

“ Oh yes! There isn’t any doubt about it.” 


128 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


For a moment she gazed at him in utter stupefac¬ 
tion. This was startling information. 

“ Mebbe, mon pere, he should know zat! ” she ex¬ 
claimed, breathlessly. “ By golly, eet would mak’ heem 
ver’ mad.” 

Her tongue clucked against the roof of her mouth 
as she pictured the ruction in the La Croix household 
if she should decide to loose the family skeleton. Then 
a little doubt crept into her mind. 

“ Mebbe eet ees ’nother Pan ? ” she ventured. 

“ This Pan was a girl that was very cunning,” he 
soberly informed her. “ She played tricks on people, 
especially on men. She made fools of them! They 
got into fights with one another because of her.” 

“ By golly, zat is me! ” she exclaimed, now thor¬ 
oughly convinced. 

"‘Undoubtedly! But I wouldn’t tell father if I 
were you.” 

“Non?” 

“ No! As long as we know it, that’s enough.” 

She nodded her head in agreement. The idea of 
sharing a secret with this wonderful man, to have some¬ 
thing in common with him, was a very pleasant thing 
to contemplate. 

“ Oui! We know eet, zat’s ’nuff,” she giggled, then 
her eyes blazed threateningly. “ But eef zat grasse 
femme, aga’n she t’row some poi at me, zar will be 
some fun.” 

But a very persistent old Vulcan was still creating 
considerable havoc in her mind. There was something 


THE WHIM OF AN ECCENTRIC 129 

very funny about “ zis feller wiz ze funny name.” 
How was it that she had never heard of him before. 
She glanced toward Clay with just a little suspicion 
that he had been “ stringing ” her, but her doubts were 
shattered by the sober expression of his face upon 
which she could not detect the faintest wrinkle of a 
smile. She wondered if he ever did smile. 

“ I theenk me zat I mak’ heem laugh jus’ a little 
bit anyhow! ” she decided. 

She lifted her skirt a little that he might see 
the tears. 

“ Yo’ see dose dress? ” she questioned. 

His glance travelled to the skirt and back to her 
face. He nodded. 

“ Yo’ see dose nose?” she wrinkled it up and 
pointed to the black smudge that tipped it. 

He contemplated it seriously for a moment, then 
he nodded again. 

“ M;imi! ” she declared with an impressive gesture. 
“ Mimi?” 

“ Toni’s woman! I mak’ me a beeg fight wiz her. 
Toni, he theenk he ees one gran’ roostair! Heem 
theenk I am stuck wiz heem! ” she gave an indignant 
shrug of her shoulders. “ He ees jus’ one Kanaka, 
hein, an’ me, I am some French! I am one aunt’s sister 
wiz Napoleon ze beeg. Mon pere, heem tell me zat 
when he have ze powdair in hees nose.” She paused, 
expectantly, waiting for him to express his opinion of 
Toni’s presumption. 

9 


130 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


“ I can understand your annoyance,” he assured her, 
“ he is not your social equal.” 

“ Mebbe! ” she said with a puzzled frown. “ I 
don' know zat. He ees one beeg fool, anyhow! I pay 
heem plenty. I mak’ love wiz heem so hees woman 
can see.” She laughed gaily as Toni’s miserable experi¬ 
ence in the net recurred to her. “ When she lick heem 
good an’ he run away, she call me a name—ough, a 
bad-d-d one—an’ for zat I tumble her in ze watair, I 
mak’ her sit down on her head, I rub-b-b her nose in ze 
mud, zen what yo’ theenk? ” 

From the expression on her face he knew that some¬ 
thing startling had occurred, and he leaned forward 
with an interest that gratified her immensely. 

“ I haven’t the least idea! ” he said. 

“ All ze ‘feeshes come, whiz, whiz, t’rough ze wat¬ 
air.” She paused just a moment as if expecting an 
exclamation of disbelief, but he seemed so credulous, 
so intensely interested, that she went on brazenly, “ Zey 
ha! ha! wiz zair mout’s, an’ weegle zair tails so, an’ 
so, an’ so,” she waved her hands back and forth in imi¬ 
tation. “ One ver beeg feesh, I call heem—what ees eet 
zat I call heem ? Oh, I call heem Antoine. He ees ver’ 
much entertain’. Hees belly shooks wiz joy. I say to 
heem—‘ Antoine, what yo’ theenk, ees zat ’nuff for zis 
Mimi?’ Heem theenk jus’ little bit. Heem scratch 
heemself wiz hees tail. Heem say— ‘ Mon fille, mebbe 
yo’ should give her jus’ a little bit more,’ an’ I do eel.” 

She gave a crow of delight, and clapped her hands 


THE WHIM OF AN ECCENTRIC 131 

frantically, as he threw back his head in a burst of 
spontaneous laughter. 

“Yo’ laugh! Oh, I have mak’ yo’ laugh!” 
she cried. 

“ Now, now yo’ are happee, an’ me I am ver’ glad! ” 

“ You seem to be on very intimate terms with these 
fishes,” he said, with a chuckle. 

“ Oh, oui! Dose feesh are my ver’ good frien’! ” 
she said, earnestly. “ When I go in ze lagoon, zey 
are nevair, nevair afraid wiz me. Zey weenk me ze eye 
like zey say—‘ ’ello Pan, we are ver’ glad zat yo’ come 
to swim wiz us! ’ Zey know I nevair hurt zem, I nevair 
take zem out of ze watair zat zey love, zat I will nevair 
eat zem, nevair, nevair! Zey are too happee, dose 
little fellers! ” 

She stopped, her forehead wrinkled into a little 
puzzled frown, and he sensed that she was groping for 
words to express another thought, something potent, 
something that was of tragic import to her, and that she 
wanted him to know. For a brief moment she ceased 
to be the care-free will o’ the wisp. In the shadow of 
the girl he saw the woman, wistfully forlorn as if yearn¬ 
ing hopelessly for a thing unattainable, a thing that 
was cherished as a sweet dream that could never come 
true though the heart cry ever so loudly. He did not 
speak, but waited until the struggle for words 
had ended. 

“ Eet ees ver’ funny but sometime’ I am ver’ sorry 
wiz mysel’,” she went on. “ Mebbe I am seek, mebbe 
I am hungree, mon pere he no care, ma mere —tchick, 


132 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


tchick —zat woman! Nobody care! Nobody wan’ me— 
only mebbe some mans’ cause I am a girl. Oh, eet ees 
righ’ zat a girl ees for ze mans. I do not care for zat. 
Eet ees bettair as nothings! But sometime’ eet mak’ 
me ver’ emptee here,” she brought her hand to her 
heart, and her voice faltered. “ Sometime’ I like some¬ 
body to wan’ me ’cause I am jits’ Pan. Zen eet ees 
zat I come to dose feesh an’ zey are sorry wiz me. Zey 
weegle over my foots, an’ zey teekle my toe’ so I will 
laugh, so I will know zat zey love me, love me for 
not’ings, ’cause I am jus’ mel Zen no more I theenk 
me of mon pere or ma mere, I snap me ze fingair at dose 
mans, an’ I am happee ag’n, me and dose feesh! ” Her 
eyes had filled with tears, and she impatiently brushed 
them away. She giggled, hysterically, as she looked up 
at him. “ Am I not one beeg fool, me? ” she exclaimed, 
with a gesture of disgust. 

He thought of another girl, an English aristocrat, 
boasting the culture of a dozen centuries, a scintillating 
star among the “ who’s who ” of the social world, 
who had only to wish for a thing to have some modern 
Alladin snap open a magical purse to bring it into being, 
and, underneath the lingerie and silks, just a heartless 
thing of clay, a living falsehood, a bawdy prude to 
whom men’s love, homage, worship, were mere pleasan¬ 
tries to wile away a beauty’s idle hour. 

Here was stark tragedy—a girl, half barbarian, 
making no pretense, satisfied with a flower to decorate 
her hair or a string of sea shells to hang around her 
neck, just a perfect product of wild nature too royally 


THE WHIM OF AN ECCENTRIC 133 

savage to lie; her one comforting amusement to drive 
her lithe body through the rippling billows of the 
lagoon, to disport in the spume of the tide, as it whirled 
among the rocks. With head proudly erect, unashamed, 
this girl accepted her destiny—the rightful game of 
lusty animal men, even revelled in it as a substitute 
for the unattainable spiritual love, the love that com¬ 
forts, that is a refuge when one is sorely buffeted, that 
raises man to kingship over the world of brutes. 

He thought of the mockery of cathedral bells that 
clanked brazen praise to the wisdom of God, a god that 
was so egotistically good, so boastfully just, and so 
utterly careless of the souls created in his own image 
that they fell through the ether like chips from a work¬ 
man’s bench, helter skelter, light where you may, one 
landing into Elysian ease and luxury, every desire a 
never failing magnet, another falling into one of the 
two hells he had so lovingly created for it, one above 
ground and the other subterranean. 

An eccentric idea flashed through his mind. Why 
not correct one of the mistakes of this unexplainable 
God? Pan was startled by his raucous laugh, and the 
smash of his fist upon the table top. 

“ How would you like to be a lady? ” he asked. 

She swallowed hard, staring at him in bewilder¬ 
ment. Then she cocked her head on one side, and her 
brows puckered into a little questioning frown. 

“ What ees eet, a lady? ” she asked, suspiciously. 

He started to speak, then stopped, and scratched his 
head behind one ear, just a little perplexed to find an 


134 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


answer that she would understand. He thought of 
Gloria—the mold of his misanthropy. 

“ A lady,” he drawled, “ is one who hates with a 
smile—who can stab deep with soft words—who can 
lie without a blush. She can be a huzzy at heart with 
a prayer book in her hand. If she has a hidden beauty 
she can strip it naked to the world, dangling it before 
men as a bait, and laugh when, in clutching it, they 
damn themselves.” 

“ Me, I theenk zat would be ver’ easee! ” she 
declared. 

“Of course, this don’t stop us from using some 
ideas of our own—we could make improvements if we 
wanted to.” 

“ Sure, we could fix zat,” she nodded her head im¬ 
portantly, with no distinct idea of what it was that 
needed fixing. 

“If you go with me-” 

She clapped her hands with delight, her eyes spark¬ 
ling, and her face radiant with joy. “ How would 
you like to be a lady,” hadn’t seemed to promise any¬ 
thing very definite, but now it assumed proportions 
that were beyond her wildest dreams. 

“ Oh, I go wiz yo’ ? ” she cried, rapturously. 

He nodded. 

“ But you understand ” he said, impressively, 
“ from this moment you are not to think of any other 
man but me! I, alone , am to be your man! ” 

“ Oui! ” she agreed, solemnly. “ Nobody else — 
nevair — Nevair! ” 


THE WHIM OF AN ECCENTRIC 135 

“ It will not be very easy for you to be a lady. 
Perhaps you will be very lonesome sometimes, for you 
can never come to this place again, never set foot upon 
this island, never see your father and mother. No 
matter what the road may be, you can never turn back, 
you must follow it to the end, no matter where it leads. 
Perhaps that will be too hard for you?” 

“ I do not care, me!” she exclaimed, imploringly. 
“ Pleas’, pleas’ take me! I will stay wiz yo’ ’till I die! ” 

He got up, and held out his hand, into which she 
trustfully placed her own. He felt the pounding leap 
of her pulse as it throbbed beneath his finger tips, and 
he marvelled that his every nerve seemed electrically 
alive, and strangely thrumming a requiem to the Thing 
that had obsessed him—the memory of Gloria. 


CHAPTER II 


THE RIFT IN THE LUTE 

A man may get out of bed in the morning, after a 
night of dreamless, refreshing sleep, with a roseate 
view of the world, and a Christian love for its people. 
He can sit down to a breakfast feeling that it is of 
epicurian daintiness, the grape fruit a golden ball of 
lusciousness, the bacon a marvel of artistic cookery, 
the eggs masterpieces of hencraft, and the coffee 
Mochoian nectar. He may start for his office, his lips 
puckered into whistling melody, firmly convinced that 
he is the most fortunate mortal in the universe. Per¬ 
haps he will cock a delighted ear to the singing of a 
bird, his head will nod in responsive friendliness to 
the wagging tail of a stray dog, the newsboy on the 
corner will receive a fatherly pat on the head, even the 
spattering mud from the wheels of a passing motor will 
in no way disturb his perfect equanimity, then—. Sud¬ 
denly he recollects some unpleasant episode, some trivial 
disagreement, something that could or might happen, 
and presto—his sun ducks behind a cloud, the world 
becomes a sizzling hell and all its people fiendish con¬ 
spirators against his peace, his stomach gleefully sports 
with ptomaine, he drives a lusty kick at the dog, barks 
back at the newsboy, prays fervently that the motor be 
sent to everlasting smash and the chauffeur sent up for 
life. Mouthing the epithets of an unleashed madman, 
136 


THE RIFT IN THE LUTE 137 

he reaches his office in a blind fury of temper that lasts 
until he forlornly tumbles into bed at night. All of 
which is proof of the psychological fact that a man can 
think himself into a state bordering upon insanity, and 
that what really arouses his frenzy may be a shadow 
that is purely chimerical, or something that has gone 
before, ceased to exist, and that should, for sanitary 
reasons, be entombed with all other things that are dead. 

Thus it had been with Clay when that newspaper 
clipping had slipped from between the folds of the 
old wallet. It was as if a hideous spectre had burst 
through the sod of an ancient grave to croak through 
its fleshless jaws the stern reproof, “ Oh thou fool! 
Dost thou not know that the penalty thou must pay for 
loving a woman is —Thou shalt never forget He 
thought he had forgotten. The first years of the ten 
he had ruthlessly assailed and crushed out every human 
emotion save that of hate. Longings, regrets, even 
conscience itself had been stifled into silence. Now a 
draft, as from the inferno, had relumed the smolder¬ 
ing fires as these phantasmagoric creatures re-enacted 
their old roles to the most insignificant detail. Again 
he heard Gloria’s voice, musical as the far echoes of 
temple bells, so treacherously sweet as she gave him her 
betrothal promise. Again he saw her in the arms of 
the strutting Carringford, an ominous shadow in the 
moonlight. He had raged ten years before, but it had 
been like the rage of a bewildered child—a child that 
was desperately afraid. Now his rage was that of a 


i 3 8 PANDORA LA CROIX 

man seared in the fires of hell—a man who would never 
forget, would never forgive, a man that could kill. 

For a second time he crouched in the musty hold of 
Fung Shui’s junk that was swashing and creaking along 
toward the China Sea in the glow of silver gray that 
heralded the approach of another day. Suddenly the 
movement of the vessel seemed to cease, he heard 
sharp orders, the patter of running feet, and the swish 
of the anchor as it struck the water. It was several 
minutes before he succeeded in spanning the years, and 
realized that the Lark was gently rolling in the swells 
of the lagoon. Forgetting the box, and the papers 
strewn across the table top, even the bag of pearls and 
the pear-shaped gem, he mechanically reached for his 
cap and climbed the few steps that reached to the deck. 
Here, he curtly ordered Poni to row him ashore. 

A long blaring blast of a steam whistle had brought 
Fung Shui to the door of his galley. Just beyond the 
reef the huge liner the City of Bombay had anchored, 
and a lighter was drawing up to its side for the purpose 
of taking off a few pieces of freight that had been con¬ 
signed from Sidney. Nearby, bobbing about in the 
water, was the dingy little launch that carried the few 
passengers embarking for northern ports. As Fung 
Shui turned to go back he caught sight of Hayes 
standing near the bow and intently gazing shoreward. 
Now Fung Shui’s bump of curiosity was abnormally 
developed. He wanted to know things. Even those 
that were trivial and very insignificant interested him. 
Most of his wisdom had been acquired from the study 


THE RIFT IN THE LUTE 


139 


of the things that other men would pass over as unim¬ 
portant. He would have told you that everything that 
was big started from something that was little, that it 
took an acorn to grow an oak, and that if one were 
interested in little things a study of Jim Hayes was 
certainly worth one’s while. 

He saw that Hayes was watching the small boat 
that Poni was driving through the water with sturdy 
strokes, and that his eyes followed Clay from the time 
he stepped upon the wharf until he disappeared around 
the corner of the warehouse. Fung Shui wondered why 
he was waiting, with such apparent impatience, for 
Clay to get out of sight, holding his body tense and 
rigid much as a thief of the night waits in the shadows 
for a watchman to pass. 

He saw Hayes turn and regard the liner, his mouth 
twisted into a triumphant grin. His sharp ears caught 
the grunt of satisfaction as the superintendent whirled 
and started quickly across the deck in the direction of 
the passageway that led to the cabin. Hayes had tra¬ 
versed half the distance when he caught sight of the 
Chinaman lazily leaning against the port rail. With 
a muttered curse, he slackened his pace and made an 
almost imperceptible move to turn back but, evidently 
concluding that this might arouse Fung Shui’s sus¬ 
picions, he again started for the cabin, this time walking 
slowly as one who rambles about with no particular 
object in view. There was just the slightest twitch in 
one corner of the Chinaman’s mouth, a mere flash, and 


140 PANDORA LA CROIX 

again his face became as expressionless as the one of 
stone on a Buddha image. 

As Hayes got to the foot of the passageway he 
came to an abrupt stop. His heart pounded viciously 
for he thought he heard the stealthy pad of footsteps 
that seemed to be approaching the top of the stairway. 
He listened, ears keenly alert, but there was no sound 
except the sucking swish of water against the hull, and 
the echoing thud of moving freight that came across 
the lagoon from the liner. He concluded that he had 
been mistaken. After all, why should he be watched. 
It was quite the usual thing for him to enter the cabin ; 
his own state-room opened off of it. With Clay absent, 
he was in full charge of the vessel, and answerable to no 
one for his actions—particularly that damned China¬ 
man. Hadn’t he actually suffered thinking about those 
pearls—suffered acutely because he couldn’t see just 
how he could get them into his possession and make a 
safe get-away, and now that the apropos arrival of the 
steamer and Clay’s departure shoreward had given him 
his opportunity shouldn’t he grasp it? There was 
absolutely nothing to fear, nor any reason that his 
hands should shake in this ridiculous fashion, or his 
knees seem so weak. He had had nerve once, plenty 
of it, but that was before a little needle had become so 
necessary to his existence. It was a bad habit, and he 
would stop it—sometime—but he wished that he had 
a “ shot ” now. It would steady him, send the blood 
leaping through his veins. He was a fool for not carry¬ 
ing a greater supply, but it was a waste of time dwelling 


THE RIFT IN THE LUTE 


141 

upon that now, and every minute of time was precious. 
The City of Bombay made but a short stop—generally 
got under way in half an hour. There was little chance 
of Clay returning until long after that. He could 
easily force the lock of the strong box set against the 
wall near the door to Clay’s stateroom. It would prob¬ 
ably take him fifteen minutes if he worked fast. With 
the pearls in his possession, he could board the liner 
before it weighed anchor, and be safe on his way before 
Clay would discover his loss. There would be no chance 
of pursuit until the arrival of the next steamer three 
weeks later. By that time he would have landed in 
Bombay, and be making his way into China where he 
could catch a boat for the States. 

Still afraid of the silence of the things that were 
beyond his line of vision, he gave a reassuring glance 
up the stairway. Then he opened the door, noiselessly 
tiptoed in, closed it ever so carefully, and turned the 
key in the lock; all this with the perfect technic of a 
professional sneak thief, although he could have openly 
entered the cabin as he had done a hundred times 
before, and would have been unquestioned even by 
Clay himself. But of course it makes all the difference 
in the world what a man is thinking of when he 
opens a door. 

He whirled toward the table, but as quickly came 
to a standstill with a sharp exclamation of astonish¬ 
ment. He stood, fairly rooted to the spot, blinking 
unbelievingly at the litter of papers and the tin box that 
were on the table. He glanced toward the strong box 


142 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


that sat against the wall. It was open, and the lid 
thrown back. The whole thing seemed so ridiculously 
impossible. He could not convince himself that the 
ever reticent and methodical Clay would leave his per¬ 
sonal papers about for the inspection of any chance 

comer, or leave the pearls-! He gave a groan of 

disappointment. Of course Clay had taken the pearls 
with him. After all his 1 well-laid plans he had been 
checkmated. He muttered fierce imprecations, words 
bitter with acid rage, as he turned to leave the cabin. 
Then, with renewed hope, he made up his mind that 
he would be foolish not to examine the contents of the 
box. First, of course, he must assure himself that 
there was no one in either of the two staterooms. It 
wasn’t at all likely, but it was as well to make sure. 
He opened both doors and glanced within. There was 
no one there. He quickly crossed to the table, and 
pawed through the contents of the box, almost scream¬ 
ing with delight as he brought out the buckskin bag. 
All the pearls were there, even to that wonderful pear- 
shaped gem. He gloated over them, running them 
through his fingers, and babbling half crazily about the 
things that he would do now that he was rich. Nothing 
could stop him. The rest were mere details—Bombay, 
China, the States, and ease, and luxury. He dropped 
the bag into his pocket and started for the door. He 
turned the key in the lock. 

Suddenly the scraping sound of notes, an air that 
at first was dismally weird, penetrated the wall and 
vibrated through the cabin. It was a menacing, 



THE RIFT IN THE LUTE 


i 43 


unearthly sound, and rose, a la crescendo , to a pro¬ 
longed screeching wail that was very much like the 
snarl of a jaguar as it prepares to leap. Its effect upon 
Hayes was startling. At the first note he stiffened 
as if he had been flicked by a live wire, and his face 
turned a pasty white. A queer chill zigzagged between 
his shoulder blades. He knew that it was but a bow 
scraping across the solitary string of a Chinese fiddle, 
but he also knew that Fung Shui’s hand held one end 
of that bow. He tried to convince himself that it was 
only a coincidence, that it was nothing unusual for 
Fung Shui to scrape out hideous noises on that ridicu¬ 
lous fiddle but, however, he reasoned, his nerve was 
gone. If Fung Shui suspected him he was quite likely 
to exercise his uncanny humor in sending a warning or 
a threat. It wouldn’t do to take any chances. He had 
always had an instinctive fear of the Chinaman, a death 
fear that he was never able to throw off, and he had 
religiously sidestepped any chance of an open rupture 
between them. Very nervously, his eyes flirting appre¬ 
hensively about, he walked back to the table and 
dropped the bag in the box. Instantly there came two 
notes, courteous little notes, a “ thank you ” much as 
a cat might say it. He snarled a curse, a defiant one, 
but the trip to the States was indefinitely postponed. 
He decided that, at the first opportunity, he would 
appeal to Clay to have that damned instrument 
destroyed or, at least, to have him prohibit that mali¬ 
cious Chinaman from playing it within one mile of 
any human being. 


144 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


He started to gather up the papers with the inten¬ 
tion of placing them in the strong box together with the 
pearls that had so sorely tempted him. As he was 
doing so, he caught sight of the newspaper clipping 
that Clay had carelessly dropped upon the table. He 
read it again and again, his brows knit in a puz¬ 
zled frown. 

GREAT EXCITEMENT IN EAST INDIAN MILITARY 
CIRCLES ! MURDEROUS ASSAULT ! SAFE LOOTED ! 
COLONEL SIR EDWARD CARRINGFORD, THE VICTIM ! 
THE REGIMENTAL SURGEON, MAJOR JOHN CRAIG, 
ACCUSED! 

“ John Craig? A surgeon? ” he muttered. 

A startling thought surged through his mind. It 
seemed preposterous, and yet —Clay was a surgeon. 
He had freed his island from the devastating epidemics 
that had depopulated many of the other islands. He 
had performed many operations among his natives—a 
most difficult one that had saved the life of the old chief, 
Taipi Kinino. Could it be possible that John Craig 
and John Clay were one and the same man? He told 
himself that stranger things than that had happened, 
that the South Seas had ever been a safe asylum for 
outlaw and cut-throat from time immemorial. Clay an 
ex-convict! Clay a prison bird! He maliciously rolled 
the terms over on the end of his tongue. It seemed to 
raise him in his own estimation. No prison had ever 
gotten him. He had been too clever. 

He saw another clipping sticking from the folds of 


THE RIFT IN THE LUTE 


*45 

the wallet. He seized it greedily, and read it with 
an exultant grin. 

LIFE PRISONER MISSING! JOHN CRAIG, FORMERLY 
OF HIS MAJESTY’S GUARD ESCAPES FROM PENAL 
SETTLEMENT. 

Again mere headlines and no details. Hayes’ eyes 
snapped with vicious delight. This seemed to settle 
the matter beyond all doubt, and explained the reason 
for the idiosyncrasies of this silent Mister Clay. He 
was a fugitive, a man wanted. No doubt there was a 
price on his head, a reward to whoever would give him 
up—or give information. 

He crossed to the port hole, his mind in a riot as 
he tried to evolve some plan that would allow him to 
turn to profit the information that Clay’s careless¬ 
ness had placed in his hands. It must be something in 
which he, himself, would be thoroughly hidden in the 
background. It would not do for him to be too con¬ 
spicuous. He could picture Clay’s swift reprisal. His 
roving eyes fastened upon the wireless extension that 
reared itself above the upperworks of the City of 
Bombay . He uttered a sharp exclamation. His prob¬ 
lem was solved. He hurried the papers and pearls into 
the strong box and, after locking it, quickly ascended. 

As he reached the deck, he paused again, seized with 
an unaccountable dread, for Fung Shui was but a pace 
away, and leaning idly over the starboard rail. He 
managed to conquer this feeling and, with a defiant 
stiffening of his shoulders, crossed the deck. Poni had 
just brought the small boat to the side of the Lark. 


10 


146 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


“ Wait! ” Hayes called to him, “ I want you to 
row me over to the steamer.” 

Fung Shui crossed the deck, and watched the small 
boat as Poni sent it bobbing through the water. His 
eyes were drawn to mere slits, and a hiss, sharply sibi¬ 
lant, issued from between his teeth, as always when he 
suspected hidden evil and found it difficult to solve 
the mystery. 


CHAPTER III 


THE MAGDALEN ACCUSED 

Toni, a breathless messenger with startling news, 
darted through the underbrush, leaping the green scum 
of stagnant pools, and tearing himself loose from the 
clutch of aromatic vines, orchids, and pandanus that 
netted his way. Heedless of scratch and bruise, he 
was eager to gain, by a short cut, an advance on Pan 
and Clay who were coming along the beach. Pan was 
leaving the island with a white man—he who was 
silent—the Sphinx. This had been the whisper that 
had percolated through the ramshackle cafe as she and 
Clay had passed through its door. And this was the 
news that Toni had seized upon so eagerly as an open 
sesame to Mimi’s good graces—something that would 
divert her attention from himself even if the armistice 
was but brief. 

As he neared the hut, he loitered, and waited for 
Pan and Clay to come into sight at the brow of rock 
that dipped into the scoop of land that divided the 
cluster of hovels from the lagoon. He had no desire 
to arrive too soon, to allow Mimi any time to get into 
action. Finally they appeared, and, with a heartfelt 
sigh of an ended suspense, he again started forward, 
and fairly flew through the door of his hut. 

“Mimi, my Mimi,” he cried, “what you t’ink-?” 

But what Mimi thought was all too apparent. Out of 

147 



PANDORA LA CROIX 


148 

the hut shot Toni, his eyes bulging with fright, and 
alternately pleading and dodging a catapulted flight of 
household goods that whizzed through the air with the 
force and speed of a tornado. Then followed Mimi, 
a cauldron of fury, shrieking dire threats, and lunging 
at him like an enraged wildcat. He bowled her over as 
he dived for a tree, a huge palm that cast its peaceful 
shade over the scene of war. He wildly gripped the 
stubs of long-gone fronds, and lurched hysterically 
upward as Mimi leaped for his heels, clutched, caught, 
and yanked. Back and forth she swung like an eccen¬ 
tric pendulum as he kicked frantically to free himself. 
His shoe came off in her hands and, as she sprawled 
backwards, he uttered a derisive yell and quickly 
scrambled upwards, managing to find a crotch in which 
he could squat and recover his breath. 

“ When I come down,” he blustered, “ I bus’ 
yo’ sure! ” 

“Yah, yah! When you come down!” she yelled 
back, triumphantly. “ I bring yo’ down! ” 

She darted for a long pole that stood leaning 
against the hut, and back she came with the swing of 
an all-conquering Amazon. She poked, prodded and 
slashed at him, driving him, slipping and clutching, 
from crotch to crotch, and squealed with delight every 
time the pole found its mark, and at every yelp of pain 
when the saw-toothed edges of the huge leaves bit into 
his hands and face or dug viciously through his shirt 
and trousers. 

Every man, woman, and child of the neighboring 


THE MAGDALEN ACCUSED 


149 


huts had gathered in a semi-circle at a safe distance 
from the pirouetting pole. They had squatted, monkey¬ 
like, waiting patiently for Toni to be poked from the 
tree, thoroughly enjoying his predicament but anxious 
for the climax that they realized would be even far 
more entertaining. The women shrilly applauded Mimi 
at every whack that landed successfully, every poke 
that threatened to hurtle him groundward, while the 
men egged Toni on, cheering him vociferously every 
time he succeeded in getting the pole in his grip and 
returning poke for poke with a vengeance. But the 
hiatus in Mimi’s attack was generally brief; each time 
she had almost jerked Toni from the tree, and had 
landed a resounding thump on his head before he could 
recover his balance. 

He begged for help from his friends, but there 
were no volunteers and much dubious advice—that 
from the women raising gales of cackling laughter. 

“ An’ Pere Lauren’ he mak’ me marrie dat 
woman! ” he sobbed. “ He say I no marree her I go 
to hell sure! Ouch! Ouch!! ” he bawled, for the 
pole had fetched him a lusty crack that almost knocked 
him from the tree. He shook his finger at her as if 
this was the last straw. “ Now, now, I go to dat Pere 
Lauren’! I say, ‘ took dat woman, I wan’ to go to hell, 
queek, by golly! ’ It mak’ me seek to be a good mans. 
What I get for it? ” he shouted at her, “ eh, yo’ Mimi, 
tol’ me what I get—ouch, ouch—yo’—yo’ dam— 
leezard-d-d! When I am all res’ I slam my foots fifty, 
mebbe ten times where yo’ sits! ” 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


150 

There is no telling how disastrously the affair might 
have resulted, but, to Toni’s good fortune, Pan and Clay 
arrived on the scene, and the every-day occurrence of a 
family war sank mto insignificance. Mimi instantly 
dropped her pole, and pushed herself to a front-line 
position among the gaping Kanakas, and Toni, with a 
grunt of relief, instantly seized the opportunity of 
sliding groundward out of the tree that had given him 
every assurance of being a safe refuge from wifely 
wrath, yet had proven to be nothing but a diabolical 
trap. He did not join the group, but put a consider¬ 
able distance between himself and the redoubtable 
Mimi. He fairly oozed into the landscape with many 
an apprehensive glance backward. To the utter dis¬ 
gust of a score of scolding blackbirds, he found retreat 
behind a clump of bamboo where he gingerly fingered 
his many bruises, and voiced, vociferously, his opinion 
of the superlative hellishness of women—Pan and 
Mimi in particular—to the only thing that seemed sym¬ 
pathetically inclined to give him audience—a chameleon, 
whose darting eyes followed his every gesture, and 
whose body changed from a dark brown to a brilliant 
scarlet as he tearfully asked for its unbiased opinion of 
a woman who would so cruelly attack a defenseless man 
in a tree top. 

Pan was supremely happy in the sensation that they 
caused among the tatterdemalions as she and Clay 
passed through the cluster of hovels. He was pre¬ 
occupied, looking neither to the right or left, while she 
darted triumphant glances at one or another of the puz- 


THE MAGDALEN ACCUSED 


151 

zled rabble. That they might thoroughly understand 
the situation, she reached out with an air of proprietor¬ 
ship and grasped Clay’s hand, uptilting her nose as she 
strutted along, now and then taking little jerky steps 
to even up with the length of his stride. 

She had no idea where he was taking her, nor did 
she care. She was his woman, and he her man, “ ze 
mos’ won’erful man ” that she had ever met. He was 
big, and he was handsome, and he had whipped 
“G’rilla,” and he was going to make her a lady— 
whatever that was. What more could any girl ask, 
unless she was a foil like the “duchess ” or 
Toni’s Mimi? 

A great responsibility seemed to have slipped away 
from her. No longer was Tahiti Tom’s a necessity. 
No longer would she carry the self-imposed burden of 
supplying her father with absinthe and cocaine. No 
longer would she be compelled to fly from him when 
he was drunk, nor listen to his maudlin dissertations 
on the purity of his own blood and his sobbing lament 
that his half-breed offspring had no jot of resemblance 
to her Napoleonic ancestor. 

“ Regardez votre mere!” he would blubber, 
dismally. 

“Mon Dieu! Some day you will look like her!” 
which had ever sent her scudding to her pool to sub¬ 
mit her nose, cheeks, chin, eyes, every feature to the 
closest scrutiny to see if she in any way resembled the 
bestial creature of whose earthly use she was so uncer¬ 
tain. Now she tripped along, indifferent to the Things 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


152 

that might come in the next hour, joys or tears, raptur¬ 
ously satisfied with the glorious Now. 

The very air seemed vibrant with peace and happi¬ 
ness, stilling her throbbing heart even from her puzzled 
conjectures as to just what the process would be in 
making her into a lady. The trilling of the birds in 
the underbrush, blackbird and jay; the gorgeous butter¬ 
flies that winged along the path, a fairy escort of 
undulating, quivering red, of royal purple, of golden 
yellow spangled with the vivid green of forest glades; 
majestic gulls silently wheeling in graceful curves 
against the azure background of a cloudless sky; the 
sportive dolphins, far out in the lagoon, that alternately 
leaped and dived, sending up a spray that glistened 
in the sun’s rays like miniature geysers of diamonds, 
of sapphires, and rubies; the spume of the sea that 
surged against the coral crags, now like the softened 
notes of a flute, now a mere whisper of waters, again 
like a mighty blow struck on the head of a monster 
war drum—all this seemed to her but an impromptu 
fete of her friends in honor of the great joy that had 
come to her. 

Curiosity aroused to a fever point, the natives fell 
into line behind them, chattering conjectures, or titter¬ 
ing hopefully over a neighbor’s ribald prophecy of an 
unusual or improbable denouement, yet warily keeping 
at a safe distance. There were women with babies 
perched grotesquely upon their hips, toddlers clinging 
to their mother’s skirts and bawling shrill protests at 
undue haste, a half-grown tugging at the end of a rope 


THE MAGDALEN ACCUSED 


i53 


in an endeavor to drag along a balky goat that stub¬ 
bornly bucked and slid along in a whirl of dust in 
its effort to free itself, and then butted furiously with 
an utter indifference upon whose posterior he landed. 
The men slouched along in the rear, followed by a half 
score of enthusiastic curs that yelped and snarled, 
occasionally piling up in a hurried battle to decide a 
question of precedence. 

To Pan’s amazement, Clay turned into the path 
that led to the little mission church that sat on a square 
of volcanic rock overlooking the sea. Half inclined 
to draw back, she opened her lips to speak, to ask why 
they were going there, but closed them again and gazed 
apprehensively at the gaunt figure of Pere Laurens 
as he paced back and forth in the compound, piously 
reading his breviary. She had a wholesome fear of 
this militant clergyman. Time after time he had caught 
her in sin—venial and mortal—and had dragged her 
by sheer force, kicking and screaming, into his con¬ 
fessional, where he had sternly insisted upon, the most 
solemn promises—which she had always defiantly 
broken the moment that he had set her free. 

From time to time Pere Laurens would pause on a 
point of rock and gaze seaward, always in the direction 
of his La Belle France and the Gascon hills of his 
boyhood that he had not seen for so many years. He 
was very lonesome at times, and very weary; his work 
among the lascivious and care-free Kanakas brought 
him so few triumphs and so many disappointments. 
Under the gentle impulse of a caressing tropical breeze, 


154 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


his cassock flapped loosely against his skeleton-like 
frame. His face was of lifeless whiteness, and, beyond 
the exceedingly sharp and penetrating eyes that set deep 
back beneath his bulging temples, and a thin line of a 
mouth that foretold a relentless, even cruel determina¬ 
tion, a mere breath seemed all-sufficient to waft him 
into the infinite. 

Clay threw open the gate in the wall and entered 
with Pan. She hung back j ust a little, utterly bewildered, 
her heart beating a wild tattoo, and sorely tempted 
to bolt and run. The natives grouped at a respectful 
distance, their eyes popping with expectation, but awed 
into silence by the presence of the much-feared priest. 
Pere Laurens had advanced a few paces, and then 
stopped with a questioning frown on his face. Stand¬ 
ing there so immovable, he reminded one of a study in 
black and white of some grim old judge of a mediaeval 
inquisition in solemn lucubration as to whether the 
thumb screw or the rack was the most efficient instru¬ 
ment of enforced repentance. Yet he was kind— 
coldly so, perhaps. As far as his slim purse would 
allow he obeyed the scriptural injunction to feed the 
hungry and clothe the naked. He had jeopardized his 
life by nursing the sick through many terrible epi¬ 
demics. Far into the night, in fair weather or in the 
hurricane season, he might be found making his way, 
with the aid of a smoky lantern, along the tortuous paths 
of the jungle to give his ministrations to the dying. 
For this he expected no praise or thanks from humans. 
He would shrug his shoulders as if he did not know 


THE MAGDALEN ACCUSED 


i55 

what they were talking about. But he didn’t want any 
oversight upon the part of the recording angel. 

Pere Laurens ruled his people by fear —fear of the 
hereafter and, what flattered him the more, fear of 
himself. The picture of a thorn-crowned Saviour 
nailed to a cross made little impression upon these 
descendants of the old torture-loving cannibals that had 
overrun these islands. They bluntly affirmed that the 
Nazarene had been foolish to allow himself to be 
caught. But Pere Laurens’ vivid description of an 
active Satan and an army of assisting devils toasting 
sinners over a sizzling brimstone lake did appeal to 
their superstitious imaginations, much more than a 
prospective eternity of twanging harps and song-praise 
to a God that loved to be flattered. Of course they 
couldn’t understand why God should be so mad at them 
for dancing in the way of their grandfathers, or for 
not wearing clothes that they weren’t used to, or for 
doing the Thing that seemed so obviously plain that 
He intended them to do, or why a few words spoken 
by Pere Laurens made a thing right that was wrong 
before. So they often backslid, and as often Pere 
Laurens yanked them back upon the straight and nar¬ 
row path—sometimes by moral suasion, and sometimes 
by muscular force. 

Pere Laurens presumed that Pan had been up to one 
of her sinful pranks, and that Clay had brought her 
there that a confession might be wrung from her, and a 
stern rebuke administered. He advanced, judicatori- 
ally solemn, and responded to Clay’s greeting with the 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


156 

one word “ M’sieu ” uttered in a deep sepulchral voice, 
his head tipping forward in a punctilious bow. The 
next instant it flew back with a jerk as he caught Clay’s 
most astounding request. 

“We have come to be married,” he bluntly told 
him, “ and, I will be gratified if you will make the cere¬ 
mony as brief as possible.” 

It was like the dropping of a bolt from a clear sky. 
Even the rabble were stunned into bewildered silence. 
The priest stared aghast at Clay, then glowered at Pan, 
whose mute lips trembled nervously as she regarded 
Clay with even greater astonishment than that of 
Pere Laurens. 

A real marriage had been beyond her wildest 
dreams. No man from civilization ever brought the 
woman to a priest before leading her to his home. It 
wasn’t necessary. No woman of the island expected 
it. It was a personal triumph if a white man desired 
her, a bounteous gift from her gods. She was quite 
content to live with him for a fortnight or a lifetime, 
even for one nocturnal orgy of lust. Other girls 
would envy her, delight her with their jealousy. If he 
chose to keep her she would give him the devotion of 
a dog, and practice every conceivable sexual lure to 
hold him. He could beat her unmercifully, as he gener¬ 
ally did, and she would love him the more. He could 
kick her out and enthrone a successor in her place and, 
while it might break her heart and make her an object 
of ridicule among those of her kind, she would never 
question his right to do so. Venery was as conven- 


THE MAGDALEN ACCUSED 


157 


tional with them as chastity and virtue were moral 
laws of the white woman and, however much one might 
denounce as bestial their natural trait of unbounded 
lasciviousness, it found its equal in the promiscuity and 
violent passions of the average white man. Even in 
Pan’s case, it was a whispering instinct alone, a heritage 
of centuries of French ancestors, that gave her even a 
faint realization of the boon that was offered her. 

Pere Laurens still glowered accusingly at Pan. It 
seemed so incredible that this imp of Satan had prac¬ 
ticed her hellish arts upon this man with such subtlety 
that he was quite content to make a monumental fool of 
himself, and the frightful insidiousness of her lure was 
made all the more apparent by the fact that Clay seemed 
to him to be perfectly sober. Words of biting 
anathema welled to his lips but he stilled the desire, 
instinctively sensing the headstrong will of this man, 
and deciding that he must meet the issue very diplo¬ 
matically if he wished to avert a calamity, the wrecking 
of a white man’s life. Pan giggled nervously as she 
watched the nonplussed priest. At another time she 
would have been very much afraid of him, but now, 
reassured by the thought of the ease with which Clay 
had manhandled “ G’rilla,” she pressed close to his side, 
thoroughly convinced that he would settle the matter 
in short order. 

“ I cannot believe it possible, M’sieu, that you would 
marry this — girl! ”, the priest said gravely, dwelling 
most significantly upon the words “ this—girl.” 

Clay’s reply was quick and sharp, even resentful, 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


158 

for he was in a hurry, and had no desire to quibble nor 
intention of explaining his motives. 

“ Would you have me take her— without? ” he 
demanded. 

“No, no! Heaven forbid!” Pere Laurens hast¬ 
ened to reply as he lifted a protesting hand. “ But I 
would not wish to see you make a very grave mistake. 
I fear you have not reflected upon the serious conse¬ 
quences that might ensue. Pardon, M’sieu, if I am 
taking a liberty. You are free, of course, to do as you 
like, but I warn you that this young creature, young 
as she is, is an adept at luring men into unholy desire.” 

He noticed Clay’s impatient gesture and quickly 
placed a hand upon his shoulder. 

“ It may be worth your while to listen, my son. It 
may seem beyond the power of human belief, but I— I, 
myself ”—three times he struck his breast in deep 
contrition—“ I, M’sieu have been a victim of her god¬ 
less blandishments.” 

Clay glanced questioningly at Pan. She was star¬ 
ing at the priest, her mouth agape, a look of absolute 
astonishment upon her face. She looked up at Clay, 
and, hunching her shoulders, slowly shook her head, 
mutely expressive pantomime that she did not know 
what on earth Pere Laurens was talking about. Clay 
turned to the priest. 

“Blandishments? You?” he exclaimed, unbe¬ 
lievingly. 

“ Even I! ” He bowed his head as one most thor- 


THE MAGDALEN ACCUSED 


i59 

oughly ashamed, and two red spots flared on 
his cheekbones. 

“ You would not believe it—but—a week ago-” 

He stopped, breathing heavily. He closed his eyes 
as if to shut out a repetition of an awful sight, then 
flashed them open with an emphatic snap, and shrugged 
his shoulders courageously as if he had determined 
to tell the story no matter what reflection it might have 
upon himself. Had not he, Pere Laurens, been inno¬ 
cently, guilelessly, strolling along the beach, one hand 
holding his cotton sun-umbrella, the other his breviary 
that he was reading as usual. Could he, for one 
moment, imagine that the devil was walking by his side, 
triumphantly leading him, a celibate of sixty-two years, 
to where this elfin Pan, sans even a fig leaf, was bath¬ 
ing—in all the privacy of the South Seas. To suppose 
such a thing was quite preposterous. 

He had come upon Pan with startling abruptness. 
She was standing knee deep in the water with her back 
to him. He had rigorously forbade any woman from 
entering the water without some garment to screen her 
nakedness. He had had much trouble in his attempt 
to stop the pernicious practice of bathing in the nude 
that prevailed among the unregenerate females of this 
licentious island. He had flattered himself that he had 
been successful, but here was open rebellion by a girl 
who had been the bane of his life. His righteous wrath 
had gotten the better of his discretion. In fact, he had 
not figured at all upon results. He had ordered Pan 
to come out of the water and put on her dress. And she 



i 6 o 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


had obeyed. Mon Dieu, yes! She had turned, and 
came leaping shoreward, and shoreward was toward 
him. With a shriek of dismay he had lowered his 
umbrella, a flimsy bulwark between them and, with 
eyes closed tight—this he could truthfully assure 
M’sieu—with eyes closed tight, he had snapped it open 
and shut, furiously jerking the frame back and forth 
on the handle, and ordering her to go instantly back 
into the water. 

“ Yo’ say come out—go in! How I know what eet 
ees zat yo’ wan’ ? ” she had demanded. 

“ Child of sin,” he had stormed at her from behind 
his breastwork, “ cannot you realize how you look, you 
—you—you dirty girl! ” 

“ I look aT righ’, me!” she had exclaimed, indig¬ 
nantly, her head wagging furiously, and her eyes flash¬ 
ing fire. “An’ I am not dirtee-e. I am clean, me! 
What I go in ze watair eef eet ees not to wash me, 
mysel’? Look! Jus’ look! ” and she started to circle 
the umbrella with outstretched hands. 

With an unsaintly imprecation, he had turned and 
fled along the beach. But even the umbrella seemed to 
enter into the conspiracy to undo him, for the wind 
rushed into it and tugged and pulled him so forcibly 
backward that, in sheer desperation, he was compelled 
to abandon it. It landed in the water and was errati¬ 
cally bouncing and wobbling over the swells, like a 
rudderless schooner, with Pan in pursuit, as he raced 
for the shelter of an intervening rock. Here he dropped 
weakly down and mopped his perspiring brow. Saint 


THE MAGDALEN ACCUSED 


161 


Anthony and his temptation! Pooh! Had not he, 
Pere Laurens, almost died with apoplexy in getting out 
of sight. 

It was with great difficulty that Clay succeeded in 
controlling the desire to laugh outright at the absurd 
predicament that the priest had fallen into, and Pan, 
who had watched the changing expression of Clay’s 
face with many misgivings as the narrative progressed, 
gave a sigh of relief when she saw that he did not 
seem to attach much importance to the matter. He 
could see that the humor of the situation had been 
as utterly lost upon her as it had been upon Pere 
Laurens, that the priest, ever fearful of Mephistophe- 
lian ambush, had taken her indignant demand that he 
look to assure himself that she was not “ dirt-e-e ” 
as only the mischievious trick of a libidinous siren to 
lead him astray. Even, the mutinous umbrella was but 
another snare of the Autocrat of Subterranea in the 
attempt to play the same hideous joke upon him as His 
Wiggling Highness had played upon the First Man in 
the Garden of Eden. 

“ It is rather embarrassing when a man finds him¬ 
self intruding upon a young lady when she is taking a 
bath,” Clay gravely conciliated. 

“ But, M’sieu, I was not intruding! ” 

“ Are you not constantly intruding ? ” Clay retorted. 
“ Are you not trying to force these people to give 
up habits and customs that have been theirs for ages? 
It is too bad that our code of morals is not hitched to 
a mind that could not picture so vividly the licentious- 


ii 


162 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


ness that it abhors. Without such a mind the 
exposed human body would be neither immodest nor 
flagrantly immoral .’ 5 

Pere Laurens attempted to interrupt with a stern 
rebuke, but Clay stopped him with an imperious gesture. 

“ My dear sir,” he continued with disconcerting 
gravity, “ if you concentrated your mind on the souls 
of these people instead of their stomachs and organs 
you would be doing a work more in unity with that of 
the Nazarene. He was quite successful, you know. 
Convert these people? Good God, you are destroying 
them! However, I can see no reason why your adven¬ 
ture should effect the question of this marriage. I am 
not a stickler for conventions, and would not ask for it 
if it were not to protect the legal interests of this girl. 
Otherwise the same over-righteous white man’s code 
would assuredly have sufficient exceptions to the golden 
rule to permit the grabbing of all that morally belonged i 
to her, should anything happen to me.” 

“ I warn you again, she is a wanton! ” Pere 
Laurens exclaimed, with a contemptuous disregard of 
Clay’s criticism. His temper now precariously uncer¬ 
tain, he pointed an accusing finger at Pan, and con¬ 
tinued in a voice that was raucous with scorn. “A 
wanton that has sold herself for money! It is not what 
I think, but what I know! Even when scarce twelve 
years of age—with the mate of a merchantman! Think 
of it, M’sieu! I”—his hand thudded vigorously 
against his breast—“ I forcibly led her to her father— 
the painter La Croix—accused her, and she did not 


THE MAGDALEN ACCUSED 163 

dare deny!” He turned fiercely upon Pan. “ Speak 
girl,” he sternly commanded, “ is it not the truth? ” 

Her face ashen, and cringing under the priest’s 
lashing accusations, Pan raised her hands in suppli¬ 
cating appeal. 

“Non, non! Pleas’, oh, pleas’ Pere Lauren’,” she 
cried, then covered her face with her hands, her little 
body shaking under a paroxysm of hysterical sobbing. 

“ Answer him! ” Clay said quietly, and gently 
placed his arm around her shoulders. 

It was some minutes before she could control her¬ 
self, and he waited patiently, while Pere Laurens, stiffly 
erect, scowled triumphantly down upon the grief- 
stricken girl. Her tears were not of shame for what 
she had done. That seemed so little to blame her for. 
But it was a complete surrender to what seemed to be 
the inevitable result of Pere Laurens’ persistent and 
determined opposition—the driving away of her 
“won’erful man.” 

" Oui, eet ees true! ” she said in a low, hesitating 
voice, stopping from time to time to choke back the 
sobs. “Mon pere, heem wan’ ze absint’. Oh, heem 
ees ver’ mad wiz ze wan’! Heem tell me to get eet, 
or mebbe heem will die—an’ zare ees no monee. Me, 
I go ver’ queek, I am so ’fraid. I meet ze man of the 
sheep an’—after—after—heem give me ze monee— 
oui! Pere Lauren’ heem fin’ eet out. Toni, heem 
ees mad wiz me, an’ heem tell heem. Pere Lauren’ 
catch me, heem pull me to mon pere, heem say ‘ La 
Croix, yo’ mus’ wheep zis girl, she ees a shild of sin, she 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


164 

go wiz ze man of the sheep for monee! wheep her ver’ 
good, La Croix! ’ Mon pere, heem take a stick—oh, 
a ver-r’ hard stick. Heem hit me, many time’ heem hit 
me! Oh, how eet hurt! I fall down. I roll so zat 
heem can not hit me some more. Pere Lauren’ heem 
sit in a shair like a man zat ees dead. Hees eyes zey 
are like ze fire, heem ees so mad wiz me. Heem say 
‘more, more, La Croix, wheep her some more, eet 
will be good for her.’ Zen mon pere , heem hit me so 
hard zat I go to sleep.” 

She stopped for a moment, and then broke out in an 
eager apology for her father. 

“ Oh, mon pere, heem would not do zat eef Pere 
Lauren’ heem no mak’ heem! Yo’ see—yo’ know— 
mon pere heem ees ver-r’ drunk wiz ze bottle of absin’ 
zat I breenged heem—zat I got wiz zat monee zat ze 
man of the sheep gived me!” 

She uttered a low moan, and half collapsed in 
Clay’s arms. He soothed her gently, sternly regarding 
Pere Laurens who seemed to be far from comfortable. 
Now that Pan had so vividly described her harrowing 
experience, it did not seem quite the ecclesiastical 
triumph that he had thought. Clay broke a silence that 
was fast becoming intolerable. 

“Quite a spiritual conquest for you!” he said, 
his voice stingingly ironical. 

“ Withhold not correction from the child,” Pere 
Laurens quoted, dramatically. “ Thou shalt beat him 
with the rod, and deliver his soul from sheol.” 

“ Ah, quite an authority against pandering, these 


THE MAGDALEN ACCUSED 165 

hypocritical babblings of a biblical old roue. I should 
suggest a study of the methods of the gentle Mediator 
of Nazareth. You will find them quite interesting— 
and effective. May we not bring this disagreeable scene 
to a close? Now that you have ‘ hurled the stone’ 
cannot this girl be allowed to enter sanctuary? ” 

“ You are still determined? ” 

“ Very! We have wasted much time.” 

With a gesture of resignation, Pere Laurens turned 
toward the church. 

“ Come,” he said, wearily, much the same as Pilate 
called for an ewer of water. 

They followed him through the door and up the 
aisle. Pan clung desperately to Clay’s arm, still uncer¬ 
tain and fearful that Pere Laurens would change his 
mind. The rabble, who had been awed and silent 
spectators of the unusual scene, entered helter skelter 
at their heels, and clattered into the rude benches that 
served for pews. As Pere Laurens strode along the 
aisle, his eyes caught the figures in a little stained glass 
window above the altar—a Magdalen at the Saviour’s 
feet. They were thrown out in vivid colors by the 
strong rays of sunlight that even flooded the altar. 
His eyes drifted to a wooden cross and its sombre 
image of the Man who had lived through the agony of 
a great betrayal, and the priest’s head sank upon his 
breast, and three times his hand struck contritely 
against his heart. 

A shaking lad, in a ragged pair of trousers, grin¬ 
ning broadly to hide his self-consciousness, held a 


166 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


sputtering candle, while a proud and very nervous 
mother sitting in the front pew, pantomimed angry 
rebuke every time the candle dipped to an awkward 
angle. The marriage service began, a ring that Clay 
removed from his own hand duly blessed. As he 
slipped it upon her finger, she caught his hand with a 
sob, and pressed it to her lips. 

“ Dominus Vobiscum ” the priest intoned in a 
deep voice. 

And the lad stammered a shrill response —“ Et cum 
spiritu tuo ” 


CHAPTER IV 


BESIDE STILL WATERS 

Immediately after the ceremony at the little mis¬ 
sion church, there was a second or civil marriage before 
the French Resident, after which Clay and Pan hastened 
to the wharf. At a signal, Poni came with the small 
boat and carried them to the Lark. Clay's appearance 
on deck with the girl aroused no comments from the 
crew of Kanakas as it was in no way unusual for 
him to transport a passenger to his island, perhaps 
some chance visitor to relatives in the native village. 

Hayes was out of sight, and had not noted his 
arrival. Quite unconscious of his surroundings, he 
was sitting, hunched down at the bow, his eyes watery, 
mouth lolling, and every nerve shrilly shrieking its 
demand for morphine. He had long since ceased to 
gloat over the brilliancy of his scheme, or plan the 
things that he would do when the prospective reward 
was in his hands. He found that one of the prerequi¬ 
sites of the office of a Judas was most disconcerting, 
that with the thirty pieces of silver came wild terror—a 
phantasm of ghastly consequences. Whenever his 
twisted brain slipped back into a rational cog, he real¬ 
ized that he might be stirring up a hornet’s nest in which 
the whole colony would perniciously light upon his own 
hide, an inevitable certainty if that newspaper clipping 

167 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


168 

should happen to refer to some one else besides the 
master of the Lark. 

His visit to the wireless operator, and the message 
that was flashing through space to the military com¬ 
mander at Calcutta notifying him that if he would 
seek John Clay he would secure information that would 
enable him to take into custody an escaped military 
convict named John Craig, had long ceased to give him 
a decimal part of the satisfaction that he had figured it 
would. The one dangerous flaw in what he had con¬ 
sidered a brilliantly conceived plan was now glaringly 
apparent. It was the fact that the message could be 
traced direct to him, for the operator was well 
acquainted with him through an occasional visit ashore. 
This had not occurred to him until Poni was rowing 
him back to the Lark. 

His panic had increased with every stroke of the 
oars until, finally, he had ordered Poni to swing the 
small boat back so that he could retrieve the message, 
but, when within twenty yards of the liner, its screw 
propeller had begun churning the water, and there was 
nothing to do but to return to the Lark. Perhaps it 
is stating a paradox, but now his craving for the solace 
of his drug had the same narcotic effect as the drug 
itself. It deadened the terror that surged within him. 

To the delight of the impatient crew, Clay gave 
orders for the vessel to be gotten under way. He con¬ 
ducted Pan to the cabin, and summoned Fung Shui 
from his galley. 

“ This is Fung Shui, my steward,” he told her, 


“BESIDE STILL WATERS” 


169 

“ and I know that he will be ready to serve you at all 
times with whatever you will require for your comfort.” 
He turned to the Chinaman, “ Fung Shui, this is my 
wife, Mrs. Clay.” 

Not the least shadow of astonishment appeared on 
the stoical face of the Chinaman. Fung Shui had long 
practiced the art of self-repression. It would have been 
an ethical error to have betrayed any more amazement 
at the arrival of a wife than at the bringing aboard of 
a sack of flour. He bowed very low to her. 

“ Slervant! ” he said. 

Pan soberly ducked her head. 

“ Me too! ” she responded, and Clay chuckled. 

Her face reddened with embarrassment as she saw 
that he was closely contemplating her dress. She had 
quite forgotten the ragged tears and rips, and now they 
seemed to be even more glaringly conspicuous. But her 
“ won’erful ” man seemed capable of solving any sort 
of a problem. 

“ Perhaps Fung Shui will be able to find something 
or other among the trade goods that will provide you 
with a change of costume-” 

“Sure, sure!” Fung Shui quickly interrupted, “I 
know! I fin’ vlelly good t’ing.” 

“ And while Mrs. Clay is changing, you can pre¬ 
pare something for us to eat.” 

“ Sure! Plenty fine slomet’ing! ” 

She watched him as he padded out of the cabin, 
and made up her mind that she was going to like this 


170 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


little yellow man. She felt more at ease, too, now 
that the matter of clothes had been settled. 

“ No doubt you are hungry,” Clay said. “ We 
have had a very exciting time, we two.” 

“ We have one—what ees eet zat yo’ call-? ” she 

stopped, her brows knitted, seeking for an expression 
that she had heard at Tom’s, and slapped her hands 
with delight as it popped back into memory. “ Oui, 
I git heem, eet ees one—rip-p-ping-g-g beeg tim’ zat we 
have, don’-cha-knows, by golly! ” 

“ As you so aptly put it,” he agreed, with a 
hearty laugh. 

“ Ah-h, yo’ laugh! Aga’n one tim’ yo’ laugh! Zat 
ees ver’ gran’, an’ me, now I go to mak’ yo’ laugh all 
tim’. All tim’ yo’ will be happee. Nevair, nevair will 
I mak’ yo’ sorree wiz yo’self, nevair, nevair! ” 

Her voice was vibrant with her earnestness, and he 
abruptly turned away to hide his emotion, nor did he 
trust himself to speak until he had reached his state¬ 
room door, and thrown it open. 

“ Here you will find comb, brushes, soap, and any 
other things that you may need,” he told her. “ Not 
the array of ‘ my lady’s dressing room,’ but quite suf¬ 
ficient. Make yourself thoroughly at home, and when 
you are quite ready, tell Fung Shui to call me.” 

He left her to herself and went on deck. The 
Lark was edging through the reefs that partly enclosed 
the haven. Poni was at the wheel, the Kanakas stand¬ 
ing ready for the chance mishap in getting through the 
dangerous passage. He watched until the vessel was 



“BESIDE STILL WATERS” 


171 


clear and headed homeward. Then he crossed to an 
awninged space, and sitting in an arm chair, lighted a 
cigar and lapsed into a review of the events of the day. 

The path that he had traced seemed preposterously 
unreal now that he had settled down to calm reflection. 
His marriage to Pan had been but the result of an eccen¬ 
tric whim—the quixotic desire to experiment. She 
was a child of dreams, a soul grasping for a shadow. 
Why not make her dreams come true? She represented 
Truth to him, even if in this case Truth was sordid and 
immoral. If Falsehood could prance in silks and 
satins, and sip the honey of life, why not give Truth 
the chance to do the same? Why not? Certainly this 
one good deed would never impair the notorious reputa¬ 
tion that men had given him. 

He found a great pleasure in conjecturing what the 
result would be, of prospective happy hours spent in 
its attainment. Laughter would ring through the great 
house on the paepae bae, laughter that would drown the 
monotonous tick of the huge clock that had so long 
measured off its otherwise unbroken silence. He had 
no intention of assuming intimate marriage relations. 
He had simply given her his name, which he considered 
of questionable value. She would have every advan¬ 
tage his wealth could give her. His reward would not 
be the gift of her womanhood, but his seeing Truth 
climb, step by step, from the ragged Magdalen of the 
water-side to that throne of virtue before which clean 
men and women do homage. And yet, he was strangely 
uncertain that he had willed these things. It seemed as 


172 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


if it had been the result of an unconsidered impulse— 
the hand of Divinity moving, with inexorable surety, 
human figures on a Karmic chessboard. 

When Pan came from the state-room, she found 
Fung Shui just putting the finishing touches to an 
appetizing spread that he had laid out upon the cabin 
table. There was a chow-chow of mangoes, bananas, 
guavas, and pineapples, over which he had poured a 
sauce of sweetened wine, and there was a salad of palm 
hearts, hot biscuits, and, by some unaccountable leger¬ 
demain, a huge cake frosted with chocolate. 

In rummaging among the trade goods he had been 
exceptionally successful. She was now arrayed in a 
sort of kimono or robe of violet silk, cut v-shape at 
the neck, and exquisitely embroidered in jade green 
and gold. Around her waist was a wide sash or obi 
of a darker shade of green, also richly embroidered. It 
was tied at the side, the ends almost reaching the floor. 
On her feet was a pair of soft-soled Chinese slippers, 
a perfect match to the color of the dress, and as beauti¬ 
fully worked in twining vines and flowers. Though 
probably intended originally to catch the eye of some 
native chieftain’s wife or daughter, the robe perfectly 
served its unexpected purpose. Though much too long 
and full, it was surprising how she had succeeded in 
giving it the appearance of having been really intended 
for her. She had perched herself upon a camp chair, 
a collapsible thing of great uncertainty, and had twisted 
precariously about on the tips of her toes so that she 
might catch sight of herself in the rather small looking 


“BESIDE STILL WATERS” 


173 


glass, the sole purpose of which, heretofore, had been 
as an auxiliary to Clay’s daily shave. A final pirouet¬ 
ting about had brought a rapturous sigh, the verdict 
that she was quite the most glorious thing that she had 
ever seen. 

“ Meesus Clay, yo’ ees one gran’ keed, by golly! ” 
was the critical comment that went with her final 
survey of herself. 

When she appeared in the cabin, Fung Shui stopped 
in the act of placing the cake on the table. 

“ Look! ” she commanded, and slowly swung 
before him like a revolving manikin. 

He soberly regarded her from head to feet, so long 
in fact that the triumphant smile faded from her face, 
and she looked herself over apprehensively. With his 
head cocked on one side, he slowly circled her, gave 
a hitch or two to the obi, then stood off and again sur¬ 
veyed her with all the critical cocksuredness of an 
expert, a connoisseur before a work of art. 

“ Tell me how I look! ” she impatiently demanded. 
“ By golly, yo’ tak’ one dam’ long tim’! ” 

“ Ai, ai, ai, ai! ” he exclaimed, with many approv¬ 
ing nods of his head, then lapsed into Mandarin Chinese 
to more fully express himself. “ Thou art as lovely 
as a lotus flower in a clear pool. Thy gown is beauti¬ 
ful. Thou needst have no anxiety; the Honorable 
Clay will be very proud of thee. He will think as 
I, myself.” 

She had no idea what he was talking about, but 


174 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


somehow or other it sounded very assuring, and she 
sighed contentedly. 

“ Me, I t’ink so, too! Oui, ver’ much!” she said 
with complacency. 

“ Wait! ” he suddenly exclaimed, and padded from 
the room. In a moment he was back again, carrying 
a wonderful string of variegated jade. It was of pure 
feitsui that is so highly prized by Chinese, and had a 
carved pendant, with an inscription cut in relief in the 
pictorial writing of ancient China, and perhaps of 
strange import even to Fung Shui himself. It was 
centuries old and very valuable, and no doubt one of 
his most prized possessions. With a ceremonious bow, 
he hung it around her neck. 

“ Wledding plesent flor yo’! Vlelly wise China¬ 
man, he makee that,” he pointed to the inscription, 
“ Mlebbe bling yo’ vlelly good luck, eh? ” 

“ Eet ees ver’ won’erful! ” she exclaimed, 
delightedly. 

“ Yo’ are ver’ good to me! I t’ink I will like yo’ 
ver’ much! ” 

He bowed very gravely, and had turned to the table 
for a last inspection when she called him again. She 
had a slip of paper in her hand, and held it up that he 
might glance it over. 

“ Yo’ see heem? ” she asked, importantly. 

He nodded his head. 

“ Heem say I am la femme, ze wieeve of my John 
Clay, now what yo’ know ’bout zat? ” 

“ ’Stifficate,” he said. 


“BESIDE STILL WATERS” 


175 


“ Mebbe! Eet ees a ver’ beeg t’ing anyhow, zis 
stiff cat. I mils’ keep heem alway’. Eef I loose heem 
I am no longair ze wieeve of my John Clay; ze mar- 
riahj eet would be all bus’ to ’ell, an’, by golly, I would 
be ver’ mad wiz mysel’! ” 

“ Glet ’nother,” he suggested. 

“ Oh, eet ees ver’ hard-d-d to git zis one. I would 
not wan’ to git marree aga’n. Eet tak’ too manee fellers 
to mak’ heem stick, Pere Lauren’ an’ zat French resi¬ 
dent. Yo’ hav’ to be such a beeg fool to be marree. 
Yo’ shooks in yo’ tooths, yo’ legs zey weegle so yo’ 
t’ink yo’ fall down. Eet ees tairreebul! Non, non, 
I wil tak’ me ze good keep wiz zis stiff cat! ” 

She carefully pinned it on the inside of her robe, 
then, after watching Fung Shui for a moment, seeking 
again for an elusive word, she exclaimed triumphantly: 

“ I git heem! ’Usband! ’Usband! Eet ees ze 
gran’ word! Will yo’ pleas’ tell my *usband zat I am 
ready for—ze eats ? ” 

She waited for Clay with the jumping nerves of an 
actor making a first appearance. Hitching the robe 
here and there, and twisting at the obi, she darted 
into the state-room and leaped upon a chair for a last 
reassuring inspection in the looking glass. She raced 
breathlessly back into the cabin, and placed herself, 
after much study and many changes, in such a position 
that his eyes would first fall upon her when he opened 
the door. Even the pendant on Fung Shui’s string of 
jade was subjected to many little pokes and prods until 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


176 

it rested upon a spot on her breast that she felt most 
likely to meet his critical approval. 

Though he responded at once to Fung Shui’s sum¬ 
mons, it seemed interminably long before she heard 
his quick footsteps as he descended the passageway. 
Her eyes were feverishly bright, her cheeks flushed to 
a rosy pink, and her heart pounded furiously as she 
faced what seemed to her the biggest moment in 
her life. Would she come up to his expectations now 
that her rags were gone? Did she really look as well 
as she thought she did? Was there any little detail 
that she had overlooked? She was on the point of 
again dashing for the looking glass when he opened 
the door. 

He stood stock still, marvelling at the change, the 
ravishing beauty of the transformed girl. With lips 
that were mute and tremulous, eyes that were wistfully 
pleading, and swallowing hard to keep back a hysteri¬ 
cal sob, she waited for his verdict. 

“ You are very beautiful,” he finally said, “ and 
I am proud of you.” 

A wild joy seized her, a joy that she could not 
express. She longed for the encircling arms of this 
awe-inspiring man, feeling that then she would not 
fumble so desperately for the elusive words that would 
express her gratitude for the great happiness that he 
had given her. She came to him timidly, even bash¬ 
fully, but the solace of his arms was denied her, and, 
to cover up her keen disappointment, she called his 
attention to the string of jade. 


“BESIDE STILL WATERS” 177 

“ Heem gived eet to me,” she said, indicating the 
silent Fung Shui. 

He instantly realized the import of this generous 
gift. It was a highly prized keepsake, an heirloom 
of many generations of Fung Shui’s kinsmen, and there 
was no doubt but that it was coupled with cherished 
memories of unique and mysterious incidents of a long- 
gone past, for such things are ever the symbol of mystic 
romance in the land of the dragon. It was now, 
indeed, a symbol, startlingly expressive, of Fung Shui’s 
approval of the girl. 

“ I know what this means, old friend,” Clay gravely 
said to him, “ and I cannot tell you how much I 
appreciate it. It is much too valuable, I am afraid.” 

But Fung Shui’s face wore the expression of one 
who had no intention of understanding. His hands 
swung outward in an impatient gesture, and he rather 
noisily pushed the dishes about as a broad hint that 
there was altogether too much conversation to suit 
him. As he had spent his time in a far from frigid 
galley in preparing this spread for them, he expected it 
to be eaten without any further delay. The hint was 
instantly taken. 

The Lark plowed swan-like through the calm sea 
bearing Pan on her odyssey into a strange world—a 
world that her imagination had enveiled in an ineffable 
glamour of romance. The vessel’s deck was swathed 
in the golden rays of the late afternoon that were 
shaded but once by a fast-flying cloud of koio or 


12 


178 PANDORA LA CROIX 

blackbirds. Beyond that, the azure sky was only dotted 
now and then by a whirling seahawk or a tropic bird 
that spiralled so close to the deck that its rose-colored 
body and the carmine of its majestic sweep of wing 
could be plainly discerned. In the gathering twilight 
the island came into view, its towering cliffs standing 
dark-purple against the blood-red of the setting sun. 
One by one the stars came out, specks of light that were 
lost in the infinite. Myriads of flying fish leaped and 
plunged before the advancing prow like scintillating 
spangles on the deep blue of the water. As the vessel 
’neared its harbor, it seemed to plunge into a sea of 
swelling quicksilver. Before it stretched a league of 
waters that glittered in coruscating phosphorescence, 
alive with that lowest of creatures, the prolozoam, a 
world of them in a single drop, through which the 
Lark plowed a huge furrow of swirling fire. 

Just as the slumbrous shadows fell, the jaws of 
coral came into view, swells combing over them and 
breaking into spray like the flurry of lace and dancing 
fairies. As they edged through the narrow and tricky 
passage that was now exposed in the glare of the 
beacon on the compound gates, there came the sound 
of a swelling song of welcome, a hundred voices of 
rejoicing men, women, and children of Clay’s native 
village who had waited for many weeks for the return 
of the master, and had received the news of the Lark's 
approach from a lookout that they had never neglected 
io maintain upon the cliff that towered over the reef. 


“BESIDE STILL WATERS 5 


179 


When the vessel had wharfed, the natives crowded 
upon the deck, clamorously greeting Clay and the crew, 
and it was with great difficulty that he finally succeeded 
in getting away from them, and leading Pan into the 
house. When they learned that she was his wife, they 
broke into a hubbub of exclamations: Some started 
dancing while others sang the words of an alluring 
and dulcet melody, a dancing love song that they 
called the “ upanpakara.” Nor could they be denied 
the privilege of ceremoniously rubbing their noses 
against hers as a token of sincere affection, and a pledge 
of loyalty to the girl that the master had chosen. 

After they had lugged the strong box into the 
living-room, the crew followed the natives into the 
narrow path that led to their village—there to spend 
the night in a skylarking revel, a joy-glutting of girls, 
to drink from cocoanut shells the wine of the palm, 
to feast on roast pig, poi, and the epicurean delicacy, 
a ragout of devil-fish and crabs. Through all the 
excitement of landing and boisterous reception, Hayes 
was sprawled grotesquely upon the forward deck, his 
mouth lolling gargoylishly, and hooting and tooting a 
nasal solo of vibrating whiffs, whoofs, and grunts—a 
snorting oblivion that he had attained through the 
gulped contents of a bottle of brandy. Here Poni 
found him. He contemptuously prodded him with his 
foot, but Hayes only moved uneasily and muttered an 
unintelligible jargon. So the mate courteously con¬ 
signed him to the tender mercies of his ghostly ancestors 


180 PANDORA LA CROIX 

and their cooking pits, and hurried after the rest of 
the crew. 

Pan was given no opportunity to delve into the 
mysteries of the huge living-room. Clay immediately 
directed Fung Shui to show her to her room, a chamber 
on the left, and with a 4 4 good night and pleasant 
dreams ” he abruptly turned and passed into his own 
room on the opposite side, closing the door behind him. 
The movement was so brusque, so astonishing, that it 
quite took her breath away. It was decidedly contrary 
to her expectations. Rather upset them, in fact. A 
blunt 44 good night,” a brief survey of a disappearing 
back, and the click of a door latch, was far from 
comforting—especially to a bride. It is not what she 
expects. It’s disconcerting, very! 

Keenly disappointed, yet surrendering to what 
seemed inevitable, she mournfully crossed to her own 
door. Fung Shui, candle in hand, had already opened 
it for her. Here she stopped, and gave a disconsolate 
glance toward Clay’s room. 

44 Pleasan’ dream’ heem say,” she exclaimed dis¬ 
gustedly, then whirled on Fung Shui. 44 Eet tak’ two 
fellers to git me zis pleasan’ dream’, and now, now zat 
I git eet, what I do wiz eet, jus’ tole me zat? ” 

44 Angel dome slometime in dleam! ” he blandly 
consoled her. 

44 Angel! Angel! What I do wiz heem, eh? ” she 
stamped her foot angrily. 44 Fung Shui, by golly, I 
am deesgus’ wiz yo’! ” 


“BESIDE STILL WATERS” 181 

With a sarcastic shrug of her shoulders, she turned 
to her door. 

“You plut kilmona here,” he said, indicating a 
chair. “ Mlebbe, tonight, I fixem plenty! ” 

“ Oh-h-h, ak righ’! ” she answered, indifferently* 
“ Me, I no care! I am ver-r-r sorree wiz mysel’! ” 

She took the proffered candle, passed slowly into 
her room, and closed the door. 

It was quite large and comfortably furnished with 
a sanitary couch, two wicker chairs, a huge old- 
fashioned dresser, and a soft rug covered the floor. 
A screened casement window opened out upon the 
compound, and through this came a soft breeze from 
the sea, and the perfume of the flowers and aromatic 
shrubs in the garden. 

She began to disrobe. The dress found its way 
to the chair on the outside of the door and, with a 
last long-drawn sigh, she blew out the candle, and 
crawled disconsolately into bed. For several moments 
she lay very still—moments of silence that were only 
broken by the monotonous ticking of the huge clock in 
the living-room—then she moved about uneasily, finally 
sitting upright in the couch. 

“ So zis ees a ladee? ” she exclaimed, sarcastically, 
then finding herself utterly lacking words to express 
any further opinion on the subject, she contented her¬ 
self with a disgusted— 

“ Oh-h-h, 'ell! ” and flounced back under the sheets. 
Another interval of silence. Again an uneasy flopping 
about, and again she bobbed up. 


182 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


“ Mebbe, zat angel will be heem,” she whispered 
hopefully. 

But the minutes slowly passed and the angel did not 
come. Hope fled and the tears came in its place; tears 
gave way to anger, and anger to defiance. She leaped 
from the couch with grim decision and, with shoulders 
swinging aggressively, she started for the door. But 
when she opened it she found the dress she sought had 
already been taken by Fung’ Shui. But her dilemma 
was quickly solved. She flew back to the couch and 
stripped off a sheet, winding it around her much as the 
natives wear a pareu. Again she started through the 
door and across the living-room. Her progress was 
cautiously slow—a long stealthy step on the tips of her 
toes, a pause, a balancing precariously as she cocked 
an ear for the slightest sound, then a deep breath, 
another step, another pause, another period of listen¬ 
ing. Her heart was beating frantically as she had 
almost reached Clay’s door. 

Then the silence of the room was broken by a 
sharp snap, and a cuckoo clock broke out in a fusilade 
of shrill “ cuckoos ” that fairly lifted her from the 
floor. With a stifled scream, she whirled madly about, 
and leaped for her own door. Half-way there the 
grandfather’s clock boomed out in a pandemoniac duet 
with its fellow, and she threw herself bodily into her 
room, and slammed the door. With a running dive, 
she landed in the couch, and drew the bedclothes over 
her head. 


“BESIDE STILL WATERS” 183 

The din had long since ceased, and silence reigned 
again. Ten full minutes passed. Then, very cau¬ 
tiously, she drew the sheet from her face, her eyes 
darting apprehensively about. Gathering courage she 
addressed herself in a tremulous defense to her piping, 
booming accusers in the living-room. 

“ Don’ yo’ know zat I have a stiff cat, me? ” she 
sobbingly exclaimed. 


CHAPTER V 

THE RADIOGRAM 

Jim Hayes’ message was relayed to the big hill 
station that had been India’s summer capital for many 
years. Its arrival at Calcutta had caused much warm 
discussion between various military gentlemen at head¬ 
quarters and several of the “ high and mighties ” that 
were entitled to subscribe “ I. C. S.” after their names, 
for there has ever been a lively friction and profound 
jealousy between the lords of the civil service and the 
folk that tote sabre and carbine. Dusty files had to be 
lugged out of vaults, and huge masses of documents 
fingered and thumbed in the search for something that 
might identify John Craig and give some information 
as to why he should be wanted, and while they sweated 
and fumed over the task, they showered maledictions 
upon this Hayes whose radiogram had so rudely dis¬ 
turbed their usual summer routine of “ do nothing ” 
in the time of the year when the city was as hot as a 
blast furnace and its stink at the very apex of its odor¬ 
ous ineffability. 

At last they found it—over ten years back—and 
they fairly gasped at the peculiar details of the case. 
It was a most disconcerting affair, a “ knock out ” for 
the departmental heads. They were plunged into heated 
arguments over the intricate points of criminal juris¬ 
prudence that were involved. Their gorge rose into 
184 


THE RADIOGRAM 185 

bilious frenzy at the disturbing and utterly uncalled- 
for resurrection of a man who was figuratively dead, 
should have remained dead in all decency, and whose 
unwarranted popping up out of his grave had knocked 
into a cocked hat all established precedents in affairs 
of this kind, and given them no other choice than to 
become “ rotters ” if they upheld the law of Britain 
and the majesty of the king. In the end, responsibility 
was brazenly shunted to the shoulders of a very testy 
commanding general to whom they relayed the radio¬ 
gram and packed off the mess of musty records. Hav¬ 
ing thus satisfactorily disposed of the affair, they 
settled back into the “ do nothing ” state. 

Now General Septimus Ortimus Bangg had just 
arrived at the summer capital over a branch line that 
for seven weary hours had crawled around a monotony 
of interminable hills. The thirty odd previous hours 
he had spent expressing it over the main line at fifteen 
miles an hour—a prodigious speed for India. He was 
tired, and hot, and peevish, and in no mood to become 
enthusiastic over the scenery spread before him. In 
succession had come the giant cactus trees, great pines 
that prophesied the hills to come, and groves of solemn 
deodars that fringed the distant snow peaks of the 
Himalayas. A glittering white tonga road squirmed 
around the foot of the hills, and over this was an end¬ 
less procession—drove upon drove of loose-lipped 
camels, bullock carts that were chauffeured, steered, 
and accelerated by the driver’s ceaseless twisting and 
twitching of the bullock’s tail, creaking tongas that 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


186 

swung precariously around curves, the blare of their 
horns rising shrill above the clatter of the lumbering 
train and scattering, right and left, groups of pedes¬ 
trians in a bizarrerie of fantastical costumes. There 
were jats, martial rajpoots, stalwart sikhs with their 
hair coiled and pinned together with an ugly knife that 
had been ground to a razor edge. An occasional punjab 
ryot came a-strutting along, a dirty rag for a loin cloth 
his only raiment, yet glorying in the shade of a huge 
cotton umbrella that represented the attainment of his 
life’s ambition. And there were rajahs, not always 
as lordly as the name may sound, for some of them 
are queer mortals who strip naked for dinner and would 
sooner be caught with their breeches off than their tur¬ 
bans, who believe that a mouthful of meat would send 
them to hell, and who plaster their floors with a mix¬ 
ture of cow dung and earth because they do not con¬ 
sider wood clean enough to eat upon. 

The journey over the main line had been insuffer¬ 
ably hot, great waves of heat swirling about the train 
and raising the temperature of the carriages to that of 
a puddler’s pit. This had not been conducive to either 
the amiability or comfort of a general officer with a 
hair-trigger temper as hot as tabasco. He was return¬ 
ing from a week’s “ leave of absence ” that he had 
given himself, and was bringing back stinging recollec¬ 
tions of a pig-sticking affair in which the Chief Impor¬ 
tance of the British-Indian Army had been tread by 
an obstreperous boar whose inclinations had become 
permanently fixed on murder. Now Septimus Ortimus 


THE RADIOGRAM 187 

Bangg on a horse was a sight for the gods. He had 
always felt that some day he would be done in bronze 
and he rode accordingly. But Bangg thrown into a 
nullah by a silly mount and then chased up a tree by a 
pig was quite another matter. It “ played hell ” with 
his dignity. And there had been complications that 
very maliciously annoying, even worse than being 
rescued by an enlisted man, Sergeant Major Gannon, 
who had had the impertinence to titter hysterically as 
he eased the general out of the tree. 

“Who wouldn’t ’av?” the sergeant major had 
defended himself. “ ’E didn’t say much a goin’ hup, 
leastway nawthin’ that meant hanything to hanybody 
’cept ’imself—hextemporaneous remarks Hi calls hit! 
But when ’e got there th’ things ’e said about that 
pig—my gord! Horful! ’Orrible! You see e’d 
snagged th’ seat of ’is britches on a bit of a limb. 
’Twas a flutterin’ ruin from ’ip to ’ip an’ all th’ way 
down. Frontways ’e wuz haccordin’ to reg’lations but 
backways ’e ’ad only th’ legs of hit. Jist as Hi gits 
’im down th’ crowd gallop hup, an’ with ’em that messy 
old hen, Lady Tugge. You know ’er, gord she’s fat, 
weighs eighteen stone, smokes seegars like a man, an’ 
ain’t got no call to go on a ’unt any’ow! ’Fore ’e kin 
reverse ’imself she slants th’ catatrophy, yanks a needle 
an’ thread out of a bag she’s carryin’ and hinsists on 
sewin’ ’im hup, an’ ’im goin’ purple an’ backin’ away. 
Hi always carry th’ fixin’s, sez she, a lookin, at ’im 
jist like ol’ Mullen does when ’e’s goin’ to saw off a leg, 
an’, by cripes, Hi spected to see ’er yank ’im across ’er 


i88 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


knee an,’ set to work, she’s that hinsistant an* ’e bein’ 
such a little squirt. But ’e backs agin a tree an’ makes 
a noise like a frog by which Hi knows that ’e defies ’er. 
Course I laughed. Heverybody did! ” 

Unable to stand the raillery at the club, the out¬ 
rageous giggling of the fair ones when one or another, 
with sugary sympathy, would insist upon the most 
minute details of his mishap, the general had flown 
to the first train out. But the ghost of the torn breeches 
had followed him, and the pig, and the grinning ser¬ 
geant, and the ogress Tugge; and whether he was 
napping or awake they insisted upon reenacting the 
farce like continuous vaudeville in a music hall—one 
performance over and another began. He knew that 
the horrible event had already become a date to reckon 
time by. “ Let me see,” one club gossip would say 
to another, “ this happened the day after the general 
tore his breeches,” or “my son was married exactly 
one month after the pig chased Bangg up a tree.” Such 
is fame. Another man up a tree wouldn’t amount to a 
hill of beans—but Septimus Ortimus Bangg, that was 
a national calamity. 

In the hill station only a few privileged persons 
were allowed to ride in carriages. The rest were 
compelled to foot it, or go horseback, or via rickshaw, 
for the streets were mere paths, and the paths were 
narrow, and zigzagged and twisted up into the hills 
where most of the cottages were. Hypercritical per¬ 
sons had said that, “ meaning no offense to the road- 
builders,” they thought a cow could have done much 


THE RADIOGRAM 


189 

better, although they were free to admit that the road- 
builders couldn’t have done much worse. However, 
the road was there, and you could take it or leave it, 
and ’twas pitiful either way. 

Of course a general is a privileged person, but he 
was two days ahead of time, and had neglected to 
send word of his coming, so there was no one at 
the station to meet him. Therefore his only choice of 
conveyance was between one rickshaw and another, and 
as far as looks went, they were as disreputably alike 
as two crows. Of course if he wished to know any¬ 
thing about the stability and runableness of the one 
he did choose he could find that out from the proprietor 
of the one he didn't. The idea of a rickshaw didn’t 
improve his temper, for he felt that Bangg in one was 
but one degree removed from Bangg up a tree, but by 
this time his vocabulary had sagged and he clambered 
in, rather weakly commenting upon the backwardness 
of a country that would tolerate such a ridiculous means 
of locomotion. 

“ To the hotel! ” he snapped, and “g-g-garump-p-d” 
very much as he did when he roared an order at 
dress parade. 

Away they went, two bantam-legged jhampanis 
jerking the contraption along while two others pushed 
behind, the four parts of the engine enthusiastic 
and merry, and the general looking like an ancient 
cherub being wheeled out for an airing in an 
overgrown perambulator. 

A second later he barked for speed, and got it—^a 


190 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


breakneck speed. Besides a jhampani everything that 
is swift in India is a snail. Down hill and around cor¬ 
ners the vehicle bumped and swayed among the scatter¬ 
ing pedestrians, the jhampanis shrieking for gangway, 
and the feet of the foremost scarcely touching the 
ground once in twenty feet. Grinning ghurkas took 
to the guard rails, scarlet-coated government chaprassis 
sprinted into the shops, Indians of high rank, and others 
who were rank and had no rank at all, wildly jumped 
for the nearest opening. Horses reared and plunged in 
spite of the efforts of drivers. Some that were white 
and had gorgeous pink tails and manes lost quite as 
much of their reserve as those whose appendages were 
of the hoi polloi. Parrakeets and cockatoos shrieked 
as they flashed by, and a huge gray ape took a flying 
leap from a wall to the top of the rickshaw, bending 
over its edge to chatter an indignant remonstrance, but 
sprang for a tree as the general whacked with his cane. 

“ The impudent ass!” he sputtered. “Why— 
why—Hey! Demmit-” 

He shuttlecocked from the seat to the top as the 
rickshaw skidded a corner on one wheel, causing a 
street barber to come very near slicing off a customer’s 
ear. A moment later the rickshaw swung before the 
porch of the hotel and, if it had careened another inch 
the Chief Importance of the army would have been 
flung head over heels into a lobby. Strange to say he 
never uttered a word of rebuke. He was too glad to be 
out of the “ hellish contrivance.” 

Two hours later the general had quite recovered his 


THE RADIOGRAM 


191 

usual genial testiness. He had bathed, and shaved, and 
changed from mufti to a comfortable uniform. Dur¬ 
ing the operation he had consumed five cherry brandies, 
and the pursuing breeches, and pig, and ogress had 
faded away in the distance. He had tiffined, and there 
is something particularly soothing to a man of uncertain 
temper when he is noiselessly and ceremoniously served 
with his favorite dishes by a barefoot waiter in white 
trousers, a long coat, and turban and wide sash of 
bright-colored silk. After tiffin he had strolled over 
to the club, found a cosy corner in the lounge, and 
settled back in an easy chair with a sigh of contentment. 
A subtle hypnosis came creeping over him. The whole 
world brimmed with peace, and the sweet voice of 
a koel in the club gardens trilled him a lullaby. He 
snored lustily. 

Heeri Lall, the solemn-faced club chuprassie, stood 
before the general as immovable as one of his idols. 
He had been standing there a good half hour, his black 
eyes glaring unwinkingly at the closed eyelids of the 
sleeper. It was the only way to awaken him, for a raj , 
particularly the exalted General Bangg, could not be 
rudely shaken by such a poor worm of the dust as 
Heeri Lall. Finally his patience was rewarded, for 
the general wiggled uneasily about, then slowly opened 
his eyes and drowsily regarded him. Heeri Lall 
salaamed, very obsequiously as befit his station, then 
extended a message, salaamed again and silently 
stalked away. 

Forty-five seconds later General Bangg stormed the 


192 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


lobby, calling for messengers. He wanted three of 
them that were not blanketty-blank snails and who got 
what they went after. The three forthcoming, they 
were dispatched to the quarters of as many officers, 
old veterans in the Indian service. Two of them were 
Colonel Cruikshank of the Light Horse, and MacLaren 
of the Fusileers, and the other a Sikh, Ressaldar Major 
Nanak Singh, who had but lately reached the canton¬ 
ment after a month’s foray with his sozoars in which 
he had shaken the hell-tantrums out of a tribe of fanati¬ 
cal Ghazis who were winning a ticket into Paradise 
by a promiscuous cutting of infidel throats. These 
officers were to be informed that General Bangg wanted 
them to come to the club at once regardless of any 
other engagements. The chuprassies on their way, he 
impatiently paced the floor, intermittently looking at 
his watch and glowering at the message—the relayed 
radiogram from Calcutta. 

The officers all arrived at the same instant, 
Ressaldar Major Nanak Singh heralding their approach 
by the metallic clink of his steel-shod boots upon the 
tiles. His movements were as active as a young sub¬ 
altern, and his eyes flashed an unbeatable energy, 
although his hair and the bristles on his chin and 
cheeks were a grizzly gray. His massive frame towered 
above the other two. Cruikshank’s legs were bowed 
by twenty-five years in the saddle, and MacLaren, tall 
and spare, if he would admit it, just a trifle too old 
for active service. 

The general hurried them to an alcove where they 


THE RADIOGRAM 


193 


would be free from intrusion. He was nothing if 
not dramatic, offering no explanation for his unusual 
summons until he had ordered the drinks, and they had 
been served. Then, without comment, he spread the 
message before them. MacLaren read it, an expression 
of amazement creeping over his face. 

“ Good God! ” he exclaimed, and passed it on 
to Cruikshank. 

The cavalryman received it gingerly. The all-too 
apparent perturbation of his confreres proclaimed it a 
very disconcerting bit of paper, mysterious too, and he 
didn’t like mysteries. He adjusted his glasses and read 
it through, then stared blankly from the general 
to MacLaren. 

“ A pretty kettle of fish,” was his only comment as 
he handed it to Nanak Singh. 

If they expected the Sikh to show any astonishment 
they were doomed to disappointment. He studied it 
much as he would a circular from headquarters, emo- 
tionlessly, without a change of countenance unless it 
was a sudden flare in his eyes that might have meant 
pleasure or amusement for all they knew. 

General Bangg drummed impatiently upon the arm 
of his chair. 

“ Well, well! ” he exclaimed testily. “ Have you 
nothing to say? ” 

“And what is there to say?” the Sikh coolly 
questioned. 

“ I want advice! I want to know what you would 
do if you were faced by a damnable situation like this ? ” 
13 


194 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


“ Every dog has his own fleas,” was the blunt reply, 
“ I am not a general.” 

“ But you were all in the service when this 
Carringford affair occurred, and you, MacLaren, if I 
remember rightly, were one of the officers that sat in 
the court-martial that convicted this John Craig.” 

“ I have no apology to offer for that! ” MacLaren 
broke in petulantly. 

“ None is required,” the general snapped back, “ nor 
is the case being reviewed. But you are well aware of 
the scandal that besmirched the great record that the 
army had won for itself, of the flood of accusations 
and mudslinging of newspapers and the people in 
private life who are ever ready to slam at the one 
branch of the government that makes for safety in 
India, and you certainly recall the stinging criticism of 
the meddling authorities in London. Though the 
court-martial judged impartially and according to the 
evidence, you know only too well that not one of its 
members were very boastful of that fact—say one 
year later.” 

“But general, that is all past—and forgotten-!” 
Cruikshank put in. 

“ Forgotten until something happens to rake over 
the muck. What will be the result if the truth of this 
radiogram is investigated, and even i-f it sends us off 
on a wild goose chase? The whole damn scandal will 
go into a second edition even nastier than the first. 
Will a single smudging detail be left out? No, gentle¬ 
men, not even the peculiar circumstances that climaxed 


THE RADIOGRAM 


i95 

the affair —peculiar I say, so damned peculiar that it 
discredited everybody concerned but John Craig.” 

Nanak Singh leaned across the table. 

“ And what do you expect of us, my general ? ” 
he asked. 

“ You have cleverly reminded me that a command¬ 
ing officer should decide his own problems,” General 
Bangg retorted with a tinge of sarcasm. “ Were this 
in the line of my regular duty I should ask no advice, 
and bear all the consequences with no obligation to 
either of you.” He snapped this, glaring defiantly from 
one to the other. “ But the matter concerns you, the 
whole army, including every Tommy and sepoy as well 
as myself. An ill-advised action upon my part will 
rebound upon it, again discredit it though the case is 
ten years old, and yet—there is the dominant question 
of justice. You are veteran officers, comrades as old 
in the service as myself, and I have called you in to 
help me to decide what I should do. I know what my 
heart tells me to do, but hearts are never trumps in a 
soldier’s game. It’s a mess,” he added wearily, “ and 
the last two days have proven how insignificant I am— 
there was a pig, dammit,—but never mind that now.” 

They apparently didn’t notice the diversion. For a 
long time the silence remained unbroken save for the 
hum of conversation in the adjoining lounge, and the 
click of balls in the billiard room. All seemed mentally 
fishing for a solution of the general’s problem, save 
Nanak Singh, who apparently refused to burden his 


196 PANDORA LA CROIX 

mind with the matter. Finally, MacLaren broke 
the silence. 

“ A year after the court-martial it was decided to 
presume, for the good of the service, that John Craig 
was dead. This radiogram is no proof to the contrary.” 

“ And if we choose to consider his—er —demise as 
a fact-” Cruikshank added, significantly. 

“ But there’s the radiogram ” the general inter¬ 
rupted. 

“ Tear it up! ” 

“ Scrap it! ” put in MacLaren, “ nobody’ll know 
the difference.” 

“ But don’t you realize that it has gone through a 
dozen hands in Calcutta!” the general exclaimed. 
“ Dammit, the I.S.C. know it. The records have 
already been searched, and are being forwarded to me. 
Read the message again.” 

MacLaren scanned the paper. 

“ Hell! ” he growled, and flicked it back on the table. 

“ Begad, it is a rotten mess,” Cruikshank declared 
with a deep sigh. 

There was another long period of silence, Generals 
Bangg, MacLaren, and Cruikshank being lost in a maze 
of gloomy reflections. Nanak Singh, apparently quite 
unconcerned, had filled his pipe and was contentedly 
puffing and blowing rings of smoke into the air. Occa¬ 
sionally he would glance from one to the other, and 
audibly register a thought by a grunt that was peculiar 
to himself, and which he varied a trifle to signify his 
reception or rejection of an idea. Finally he spoke. 



THE RADIOGRAM 


197 

Yesterday I saw an old man steering a krait out 
of his path with a long stick, salaaming low to the 
snake, and politely begging its pardon for his imperti¬ 
nence. Afterwards the man went on his way, a great 
joy in his heart that he had not aroused the anger of 
his gods by killing it.” 

“ And what has your krait to do with this ? ” 
the general growled, tapping the message with 
his forefinger. 

“ It is a stinging thing that I would steer into the 
path of another! ” 

All three snapped to attention, regarding the Sikh 
with a puzzled expression, for they could not follow 
the drift of his meaning. 

“ Steer it into the path of another,” the general 
echoed his words. “ Your parable is confusing. I do 
not understand you.” 

Nanak Singh turned to MacLaren. 

“ Who defended John Craig at the court-martial? ” 
he asked. 

“ Why—er—it was Jim Gridley! ” 

“ Colonel Jim Gridley knows more about this case 
than you’ll find on paper,” the Sikh declared. He 
scornfully flipped the message with his forefinger. 
“ Steer this krait into his path, and do not tie his hands 
with silly instructions. He will not fear the gods.” 

The general looked uncertainly from MacLaren to 
Cruikshank. They had snapped out of their gloom, 
whether from the finding of a happy solution to the 


198 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


embarrassing problem, or the unlooked-for opportunity 
of shifting responsibility. 

“ Colonel Gridley is more than a good soldier/’ the 
general declared after a thoughtful pause, “ but he is 
impulsive, takes wild chances, and often skirts good 
judgment by a hair’s breadth. Besides, you must real¬ 
ize that I cannot compel him to assume the responsi¬ 
bility. He may tell me to chase my own snake. It 
would be very like him.” 

“ He will assume it,” Nanak Singh was emphatic, 
“and it does not matter how he handles it, it will 
be right” 

General Bangg turned to the others. 

“ Well, gentlemen, what do you advise? ” 

Both nodded acquiescence, a little eagerly. The 
mountain had become a mole hole. 

“ I’d leave it to Gridley,” said Cruikshank, sagely. 

“ Surely, leave it to Gridley,” MacLaren parroted. 

Thus the troublesome matter was again disposed of. 
The next day the relayed message and the records of 
the case were on their way to Colonel Gridley, who was 
stationed at Peshawar impulsively skirting good judg¬ 
ment, but commanding the unbounded respect of the 
accomplished murderers of the Afghan hills who often 
hurled themselves upon his command with the aban¬ 
doned fury of a hurricane, coming in hundreds and 
going back in scores—-the result of his impetuosity, the 
wild chances he took. 


CHAPTER VI 


WITH THE DAWN 

The first gray glow of the coming dawn had just 
appeared above the rim of the sea when Pan scrambled 
out of bed. She found her kimono waiting for her 
where Fung Shui had replaced it after working far into 
the night with his scissors and needle. It now fitted 
her perfectly, and she gave a contented sigh as she 
surveyed herself in a much larger glass than the one 
in the Lark's cabin before which she had so nervously 
twisted and squirmed the day before. She was strangely 
subdued and quite unlike her usual hoydenish self when 
she entered the living-room. Fung Shui was already 
setting the table for two, and bowed very low, chatter¬ 
ing a picturesque greeting in his quaint pidgin-English. 

Through lids drawn into a critical squint, every 
detail of clinging robe and obi was subjected to his 
closest scrutiny. She soberly waited for his verdict, 
and it came in a rattle of exclamations, a jabber of 
mandarin, and many little nods of approval. 

“ Yo’ t’ink so?” she questioned, anxiously. 

“ Ah, ai! ” he exclaimed. “ Honorable Clay he 
likem! Yes, yes! Vlelly muchee!” 

She flamed with pleasure, and her eyes, brilliantly 
glistening, darted quickly toward the closed door. He 
noted the peach bloom that glowed on her cheeks, the 
sharp intake of her breath between the amorous fluting 

199 


200 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


of her lips. Even to the passionless Fung Shui there 
was an indescribable charm in the delicate outline of 
her profile against the silvery gray shadows of the 
living-room, a defiant witchery in the slightly upraised 
chin, a superlative daintiness from the wanton ripples 
of her blue-black hair to the arches of her little feet. 

“ Bletter you smile! ” he suggested. “ Look plenty 
fine you stickem flower in hair, mebbe in obi.” 

He padded toward his kitchen and turned to look 
back. She still stood, immovable, regarding that closed 
door. It was the pose of a bewildered child, yet with 
a strange and subtly enticing dignity. 

“ Alway’ havem song here for Honorable Clay,” 
he said, very softly, as he placed his hand over his 
heart, “you dome topside sure! ” 

When he returned to the living-room he found that 
she had acted upon his suggestion. There was a flower 
in her hair, and a cluster fastened in her obi. Some¬ 
where she had found an empty pickle bottle and a couple 
of fruit jars. These she had filled with blossoms that 
she had gathered in the compound, and much to Fung 
Shui’s amusement, she placed them as close as possible 
to the three sides of Clay’s plate. As an extra touch, 
she stuck a huge red hibiscus in the prongs of his fork. 
She was singing as she worked, a cooing, rhymeless 
improvision in her quaint patois in which “ my John 
Clay ” was poetically termed a “ boo-tee-ful feesh wiz 
a silvery tail ” in one line, and a “ preetee little bird wiz 
yeller an’ red fedders ” in another. His armchair next 
came under her critical observation. She seized a 


WITH THE DAWN 


201 


cushion from a divan, and energetically punching it into 
shape, placed it in the seat. This she subjected to a 
trial performance, tentatively wiggling about in it, 
while Fung Shui solemnly watched proceedings and 
awaited a verdict. 

“ She ees a ver’ nice soft sit,” she finally declared 
as she fluffed out the impression that she had made in 
it, and a chuckling “ ai, ai ” indicated not only his 
satisfaction, but his relief from suspense. She found 
Clay’s pipe and, filling it to overflowing with tobacco, 
placed it beside his plate together with a huge handful 
of matches. 

Fung Shui had crossed to Clay’s door to summon 
him to breakfast, but she ran to head him off. 

“Non, non!” she exclaimed. “Zat ees for me! ” 

He immediately stood aside and she, quite breath¬ 
lessly, approached the door. Then her nerve failed 
her and, with a nervous giggle, she edged away and 
motioned him to take her place. The faintest of smiles 
flickered across the bland face of the Chinaman. He 
shook his head. 

“ Muchee bletter you! ” 

“ Pleas’! ” 

“ You no do, Honorable Clay no eatee! ” he em¬ 
phatically declared with a stubborn shrug of his 
shoulders, and away he went to his kitchen. This was 
an unforeseen calamity, and she gazed quite helplessly 
at the closed door. But the harrowing thought of the 
empty condition of Clay’s stomach was a most master¬ 
ful urge, and she finally managed to muster up courage. 


202 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


It was a timid little knock but it served its purpose. 
The awe inspiring door swung open, and Clay stepped 
briskly into the room. She looked up at him, wistfully, 
like a dog waiting for the caress of a master, but he 
only smiled and, with a cheery, “ good morning,” 
crossed to the table. Just a flash of disappointment, a 
little pout, came to her face, but it disappeared as she 
crossed after him, eager for a look, a word of recog¬ 
nition of the little things that she had done for him. 

As he sat down, he felt the cushion under him 
and was impatiently reaching for it when he caught 
her expectant regard, a flash of eyes that darted from 
his face to the cushion that he was about to proscribe. 
With instant recognition, and in all gravity, he 
expressed his appreciation of her thoughtfulness for 
his comfort. 

“ It was very good of you to think about it,” he 
declared, and then, quickly rising, he crossed to the 
other side of the table, and pulled back the chair. “ Oh, 
pardon me,” he said contritely, “ I have been so long 
alone that I quite forgot.” 

At first she did not grasp his meaning, and she 
gazed at him a little bewildered until he motioned to 
the chair. Swallowing hard in an unsuccessful effort 
to thank him, flaming red because she thought she 
should but couldn’t, she timidly seated herself and he 
returned to his place. 

As he reached for his napkin he caught sight of the 
floral decorations, the barricade of pickle bottle and 
fruit jars, and the hibiscus in the prongs of his fork. 


WITH THE DAWN 


203 


He could feel her eyes upon him eagerly watching every 
expression of his face. His imperturbability cracked 
under the strain. He desperately tried to control his 
desire to laugh, and only escaped from mortally offend¬ 
ing her by a pretended fit of coughing, burying his face 
in his napkin in a gale of husky “ ha’s ” and “ ho’s ” 
that brought her around the table in a perfect terror of 
anxiety. It was with great difficulty that he succeeded 
in convincing her that he was quite all right, that there 
was no cause for alarm, and, even then, she returned to 
her seat extremely perturbed over the likelihood of an 
immediate recurrence of what he had termed a “ mere 
attack of —er—humor.” 

Looking over his barricade he saw that she was 
wistfully watching him. He felt the keen sting of self- 
reproach, a shame that he had so grieviously blundered 
in not recognizing the real truth behind her pathetic 
attempt to please him. Somehow the floral decorations 
ceased to be so absurdly ridiculous. They seemed to 
vibrate a message that the old solitude was at an end. 
Even the unlovely pickle bottle and fruit jars were so 
majestically apropos that the substitution of any of the 
priceless cloisonne or faience vases in his collection 
would have been a sacrilege. The huge room pulsed 
with a soothing contentment, and stealing over him 
came the consciousness of a singular comfort in 
her presence. 

“ Your flowers are very lovely,” he told her. Her 
laugh was velvety, low, and very sweet. 


204 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


“ Zey smell fin’, eh? ” she exclaimed, her eyes fairly 
dancing with delight. 

“ Very! ” 

“ Me, I t’ink dose little fellers zey are ver’ happee 
zat yo’ like ’em.” 

“ And you? ” he queried, with a smile. 

She bashfully lowered her eyes. Her reply was low, 
a mere whisper that barely reached his ears. 

“ Eeet mak’ me so happee wiz mysel’ zat I 
almos’ bus’.” 

His face softened as he saw her smiling down at the 
ring that he had given her, and which she was turning 
around and around on her finger. He thought of the 
other woman, and of her appraising regard of a ring 
that he had given her in an old walled garden in India. 

Fung Shui entered with the coffee percolator, a piece 
of machinery that was quite wonderful to Pan, and, 
after the why and wherefore of its mysterious purlings 
had been thoroughly explained to her in a volley of 
pidgin English that she could not understand, she con¬ 
cluded that the turning of the faucet was all that 
mattered anyhow, and peremptorily dismissed him, 
insisting on serving her “ lord and master ” herself. 
Busy with his toast, Clay failed to notice the four 
heaping spoonfuls of sugar that she shovelled into his 
cup, nor her stopping and bending upon him an apprais¬ 
ing, even rapturous regard, nor did he see the three 
spoonfuls that quickly followed—“ sweets to the 
sweet ” with a vengeance—so he added two more him¬ 
self. One sip would have been all sufficient if it hadn’t 


WITH THE DAWN 


205 


been for those watchful eyes of hers. She expected 
approval, and he felt that it was up to him to give it. 

“ Nectar! ” he exclaimed with a wry grin, and his 
nose disappeared into the depths of the cup. 

Noticing that the toast was gone, she seized the 
empty plate and tripped out into the kitchen. The 
moment the door closed, he went to the window and 
threw the contents of the cup into the garden. He 
returned to the table, refilled the cup, sweetened it to 
his liking, and settled back in his chair. Suddenly he 
straightened up with a blank look of astonishment. He 
realized that his movements had been very rapid. In 
fact he had sprinted from the table to the window and 
back to the table; his fingers had been all thumbs when 
he manipulated the percolator faucet; he had scattered 
sugar over the table when he sweetened his coffee; he 
had spilled more cream on the table-cloth than in his 
cup and, his face flaming guiltily, he had flung himself 
breathlessly into his chair, his heart thumping unmerci¬ 
fully with a great fear of being caught. It had 
been a ridiculous gallop with the lack-dignity of a 
thrashed gamecock. 

He muttered an impressive “ damn ” under his 
breath. He had figured upon being her guiding genius, 
coldly platonic, devoid of silly sentiment, and she had 
him dancing around like a performing bear on the end 
of a rope. This preposterous condition of affairs really 
couldn’t go on—and yet, even now the room seemed 
uncomfortably vacant. He felt the ache of an oppres¬ 
sive loneliness, and caught himself anxiously watching 


20 6 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


the kitchen door, impatient for her return. Suddenly 
he heard the sound of an altercation, Pan’s voice, angry 
and shrilly threatening, the voice of Hayes in a roar of 
expostulation and fear. 

Miraculously recovered from his debauch of the 
night before, Jim Hayes had fairly breezed into Fung 
Shui’s kitchen on his way to receive his usual daily 
instructions from Clay. The dismal pessimism of a 
fast fleeting “ drunk,” and the terror of speculation 
upon the possible disastrous recoil upon himself of his 
radiogram to India, had given place to the cumulative 
optimism of two “ shots of hop,” and to plans for a 
future bacchanalian existence that would have bank¬ 
rupted the Forty Thieves of old Bagdad. Even the 
saucy cockatoo, who hated him thoroughly and who 
invariably met him at the gates and followed him up 
the path, squawking profane epithets and protesting 
his every step by viciously digging at the calves of his 
legs with an all-too-efflcient beak, failed to arouse him 
from the delights of his mental orgy beyond a specula¬ 
tive kick or two that landed nowhere, and brought 
forth a shriek of contemptuous laughter from the 
belligerent bird. 

As he entered the kitchen, swinging the door back 
quickly to shut out the obstreperous foe who stub¬ 
bornly refused to recognize the sanctity of either paepae 
bae or house, he stopped short and gave a gasp of aston¬ 
ishment at the sight of Pan picking up the slices of 
bread that Fung Shui had toasted. At first he thought 
it was an optical illusion, a freak of the drug. It had 


WITH THE DAWN 


20 7 


often served him that way, introducing him to strange 
faces and strange places that had always dissolved into 
nothingness like a fleece of mist in the hot rays of a 
summer sun, but when he heard her laugh at a whis¬ 
pered remark of the Chinaman he decided that, for 
once, a beautiful vision was substantially material, real 
“ honest to goodness ” flesh and blood. Even with this 
assurance, his astonishment rather increased than 
diminished; the presence of the Real was far more 
bewildering than that of the Unreal. 

Of course the idiosyncratical Clay always messed 
up a person’s calculations by never doing what he was 
expected to do, but it was unbelievable that he, who so 
savagely detested the female of the species, should 
have brought a girl—a deucedly pretty one—into his 
Eveless Eden. The only logical explanation must be 
that he had finally been inspired with a “ glimmer of 
sense ” and realized that Fung Shui “ was a palsied old 
skeleton liable at any moment to totter head first into 
his own soup kettle,” and had installed this girl as 
“ official life-saver.” 

Mouth agape, he studied her. No detail of her 
trim little figure, or delicate chiselling of outline of 
profile, escaped him. His mouth twitched lecherously. 

“ What a panacse for insomnia! ” he muttered. 

Rendezvous and amatory trysts with the native 
girls of the village had always been sternly tabooed by 
Clay, much to Hayes’ dissatisfaction. This ultimatum 
carried with it an unexpressed penalty, but he knew 
that the squeamish autocrat of the island could be 


208 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


depended upon to improvise one that would be both 
effective and superlatively disconcerting, so he relig¬ 
iously kept away from them. Here, however, seemed 
to be an opportunity “ within the law,” a piece of 
unclaimed property that one could annex without as 
much as a “ by your leave.” His quarters were lonely 
and the girl was a beauty. Why not? A superin¬ 
tendent had some prerogatives that even the monarchic 
Clay must recognize. Those cute little atoms, or elec¬ 
trons, or what not of Morphia cunningly counselled him 
to grasp the opportunity and, when Pan picked up the 
toast and started back to the living-room, he did so— 
grasped it around the waist with all the abandon of an 
amorous Lothario. 

“ Some little housemaid,” he chortled. 

The result was volcanic. Had he kicked an over- 
populated hornet’s nest he would not have succeeded in 
stirring up more trouble for himself. She twisted out 
of his arms and, with an angry scream, caught up a 
huge wide-bladed butcher’s knife from the table, and 
pressed the point against his ribs. He uttered a howl 
of fright, and unsuccessfully attempted to seize her 
hand. Under a lightning play of the knife, little 
threatening jabs toward him, a dizzying piston-like play 
of steel before which he frantically wiggled and 
squirmed, she backed him against the wall. 

'‘Don’ yo’ know I am a ladee, me?” she blazed 
at him. 

“ It—it was only a joke! ” he sputtered. 

“ Oh! So! Oui! Eet ees a shoke, eh? ” 

“ Yes, yes! A joke, I tell you! ” 


WITH THE DAWN 


209 

“Zen, by golly, yo’ mus’ laugh! Queek, queek! 
Say ha-ha, he-he! ” 

At first he balked, and the knife flashed dangerously 
close to the pit of his stomach. In sheer desperation 
he made the attempt, but it sounded like the husky 
remonstrance of a decapitated fowl. She straightened 
up in indignant disapproval. 

“ Zat ees not for a shoke! Eet mus’ be more loud 
zan zat! Mebbe I preek yo’ wiz zis little knieeve yo’ 
will feel more funnee, eh ? ” 

He swore lustily, and voiced a wild plea for the 
Chinaman to come to his rescue. But Fung Shui did 
not move. He stood with head cocked on one side 
reflectively studying the position of the knife. 

“ Mlebbe bletter yo’ stickem two, t’ree inch higher! ” 
he suggested to Pan, with the air of an expert. 

“ No, no, don’t you do it! ” Hayes screamed. “ He 
don’t know anything about it. It wouldn’t be better at 
all, not a damn bit better! ” 

Clay, listening on the other side of the door, and 
finding great difficulty in restraining a wild desire to 
laugh, now concluded that the moment had come for 
interference. As he stepped into the room Fung Shui 
whirled quickly to his work and a rattle of pots and 
pans proclaimed him quite the busiest man in the South 
Seas. Pan had stepped back, a little abashed, while 
Hayes broke out in a voluble stutter of accusations 
that Clay sternly silenced. 

“ I advise you that silence is golden in this matter,” 
he said, and there was a glint of contemptuous laughter 


14 


210 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


in his eyes. “ That you may thoroughly understand the 
situation, this girl is Mrs. John Clay —by book and 
ring! It will be well if you remember that in 
the future.” 

He quietly motioned to Pan, and held the door open 
for her to pass into the living-room. He stopped on the 
threshold, and again turned to the dumbfounded Hayes. 

“ Hereafter do not enter the compound unless I 
send for you,” he snapped. 

He turned into the living-room and, for a full 
minute, Hayes stood, eyes popping and mouth agape, 
gazing blankly at the closed door. That “ Mrs. John 
Clay ” was a “ knock out.” Then Fung Shui’s cackling 
laugh, shrilly derisive, cut through him like the slash 
of an ox gad. He whirled furiously, and started 
toward him, spitting invectives with all the venom 
of an infuriated ape. 

“ Laugh at me, will you, you yellow bastard,” he 
roared. “ By God, IT1-” 

But the guileless Fung Shui was busily scraping that 
unforgetable knife back and forth along the surface of 
a butcher’s steel, and Hayes’ explosion ended in a rabid 
jumple of profanity as he swung about and bolted 
into the compound. 

Clay finished his breakfast in silence, covertly 
watching Pan who ate but little and seemed lost in 
rather sober and unpleasant reflections. He asked no 
questions, but waited for her to vouchsafe, of her own 
accord, an explanation of the episode in the kitchen. 
But there were neither explanations, accusations, nor 
excuses. Finally, she looked up into his face and, 



WITH THE DAWN 


211 


after a moment’s hesitation, contritely voiced the one 
thing that was uppermost in her mind. 

“ Mebbe a ladee she would not do zat? ” 

He gravely shook his head. 

“ No, I don’t think she would.” 

She nervously twisted the corner of the table-cloth, 
her brows knit in a perplexed frown. 

“ What ees eet zat a ladee would do? ” 

The blunt question rather staggered him for a 
moment. 

“ Why—er—under the circumstances—she—well, 
she would call for help.” 

“ Oh, she loose ver’ much tim’! ” she exclaimed. 
“ Oh, oui, oui, she can say pleas’, pleas’ feller be so 
kin’ as to wait one little tim’ so I git me some help, 
mais, mais, eef zat feller he ees in one beeg hurree, 
ough, ough, eet will be ver’ deef—deef—fee—cul’ to 
be a ladee!” 

" But if she has an able-bodied husband? ” 

She burst out in a ringing laugh, clapping her 
hands delightedly. 

“ Oh, oh, zat ees ver’ funee! Zat ees one beeg, 
beeg shoke for me! All tim’—all tim’ wiz zat feller I 
forgit my ’usband! Oh, I am so ver’ sorree! I mak’ 
yo’ loose one ver’ nice fight! Zat ees too bad-d! ” 

“ I realize that, in the stress of excitement, you 
could be excused for forgetting a husband.” 

“ Mebbe I mak’ ’nuther fight wiz heem, zen I call 
for yo’,” she exclaimed, hopefully, as a sort of propiti¬ 
ating salve for any disappointment that he might feel. 


212 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


“ No, no, it is not necessary,” he hastened to 
assure her, and added with a chuckle, “ besides I am 
afraid it will be difficult to induce him to become a party 
to the affair.” 

He arose from the table and crossed for his hat. 

“ I am going to the village,” he told her. “ I have 
some little remembrances for our people. They always 
expect them after a cruise, and if you wish to come 
along, you may distribute them for me.” 

She gave an exclamation of delight, then suddenly 
remembering her reception of the night before, her 
hand went to her nose. She tentatively twisted it about 
apparently trying to convince herself that it was 
still intact. 

“ Mus’ all dose fellers rub my nose some more? ” 
she anxiously asked. 

“ You do not like it? ” 

“ Oh, zare is so manee! Rub, rub, rub! I t’ink 
she ees wored out, dose nose! ” 

“ Well, it will be safe this time,.” he assured her. 
“ They thought that they were doing you a great honor. 
You know it is their way of accepting you as one of 
their own blood, to show you that they love you.” 

“ ’Onest? ’Cause zey love me? ” 

He nodded. 

“ Zat ees ver’ nice! ” 

She dropped her head, bashfully, to one side, and 
nervously traced the pattern of the rug with the toe 
of her slipper. 


WITH THE DAWN 


213 

“ Do yo’ rub ze nose when yo’ love someone ver’ 
much? ” 

It wasn’t very difficult to guess her meaning, and, 
very self-consciously, his face flaming red, he kissed 
her on the forehead—a mere peck but it cost him an 
effort. She brought her hand up and lightly fingered 
the spot. Then she carried her fingers to her lips. 

“ Me, I put eet zare! ” she whispered, and, blushing 
furiously, she hid her face in her hands. 

“ I think that we had better get out in the air! ” he 
said, and started for the door. 




























































































* 





























































































































































































































































































































PART FOUR 


Up from Earth's Centre through 
the Seventh Gate 

I rose, and on the Throne of Saturn 
sate, 

And many a Knot unravel'd by 
the Road; 

But not the Master-knot of Human 
Fate. 


Omar Khayyam 



CHAPTER I 


THE MAN FROM MANILA 

At four o’clock in the afternoon the island’s tran¬ 
sients came to life and anchored around the tables of 
the hotel veranda. Among these impudently curious 
groups came a lazy drift of residents—retired traders, 
ex-pearlers, others that were still engaged in the what¬ 
not of the island’s commercial life. When the veranda 
was quite filled—never before—the French Commis¬ 
sioner, resplendent in generously gold-braided white 
flannels, would pompously strut across from his 
office, and seek a seat as near the centre of the stage as 
possible, where, with a chronic air of official boredom, 
he would indolently sip a mixture of iced gin and 
absinthe, a much needed stimulant after an hour or 
two’s arduous occupation in the affairs of his picayune 
government. The remaining chairs at his table were 
invariably tipped against it to preclude invasion by the 
undesirable hoi polloi, and were only filled when a 
condescending wave of his hand indicated to an expec¬ 
tant “ who’s who ” that he or she was of sufficient 
social standing to be permitted to publicly hobnob with 
His Official Importance. 

As regularly came Captain Ezra Bulfinch, a ponder¬ 
ous mass of flesh that shook like an agitated jelly fish 
as he waddled wheezily up the steps onto the veranda. 
His face had the mottled tint of a stale boiled lobster, 


217 


218 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


and his one hand, a huge muscular thing of knots and 
scars, was forever petulently swathing a head as devoid 
of hair as the back of a turtle. He was a character, 
was Ezra Bulfinch, cantankerously obstinate and stub¬ 
bornly opinionated. Boy and man he had sailed the 
Seven Seas for threescore of years. He had been a 
blackbirder when blackbirding had been considered an 
industrial necessity and necessity the Law, a filibuster 
when guns were a highly profitable commodity in South 
Africa and the Philippines, a raider of pearl beds 
when he conscientiously felt that the shell was any 
man’s—which had been often. He had scars as plenti¬ 
ful as freckles, for he had been hacked at and shot at 
by every conceivable kind of a weapon, not excluding 
the exceedingly effective kris of Malay pirates with 
its blade rubbed in the rotten liver of a wild pig, or 
spears that were quite as deadly that had been hurled 
from the proas of Dyak head-hunters, or the little 
feathered darts, lethal as the fang of an East Indian 
cobra, that were spouted through a twelve-foot sumpi- 
tan or blow-gun from the tangled web of a Borneo 
jungle. A mine of information for tourists, his imag¬ 
ination a ludicrous riot when he sensed the gullible, 
his activities had now simmered down to the prosaic 
navigation of a staunch little sea-going launch that was 
much in demand for pleasure trips around the island. 

The town was quiet as usual, and, as usual, any¬ 
thing that made any progress at all seemed to be going 
backward. True, there was the raucous exhortations 
and pathetic entreaties for an all-potent “ seven ” from 


THE MAN FROM MANILA 


219 


a group of crap shooters squatting on the weather¬ 
beaten wharf, the boisterous rooting of a crowd of 
natives and a sailor or two that circled around an 
impromptu cock-fight in a clearing back of the hotel, 
and the shrill laughter of naked women engaged in the 
family wash at the water-hole a quarter of a mile away, 
with an occasional breeze-carried interpolation of 
twanging banjo and wheezy accordion from Tahiti 
Tom’s at the far end of the lagoon. But all this was 
so monotonously usual that it was unheard and unseen, 
as was the undulating ribbon of living color, the fifty 
feet of scintillating purples, crimsons, and yellows, 
thousands of gorgeous butterflies that silently circled 
the veranda like an army of fairies and disappeared 
around the curve of coral roadway. 

Under the wooden awning of a store, two weazened 
old men, immovable as gargoyles, stared unblinkingly 
down at a checkerboard, only occasionally making a 
grumbling protest when one or the other disturbed 
calculations by unconsciously twitching about on the 
soap box that served as a seat. Every hour or so one 
would startle the other by moving a checker with great 
uncertainty from one square to another and his patri¬ 
archal opponent would spend the next half hour staring 
suspiciously at the courageous one. 

A limping skeleton of a man, naked save a chouwat 
or breech cloth, a mummified Methuselah with a skin 
like sun-baked leather, crawled at a snail’s pace back 
and forth in front of the veranda, his joints cracking 
ominously, and the four yellow fangs that still remained 


220 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


in his cavern of a mouth clicking like castanets at every 
step. His eyes constantly darted from one to the other 
of the loungers, for he was seeking the little black box 
that so often brought a rain of coins into his withered 
palm. But even this opportunity to snap a picture of 
a genuine, guaranteed, hoary old cannibal, a twenty- 
two carat ex-conjurer of all kinds of voodooic hellish¬ 
ness, failed to arouse the enthusiasm of a single tourist. 
He, too, had become as monotonously inconsequential 
as the little red lizard that was stalking a bug through 
the moss that edged the lily pool, and he finally disap¬ 
peared. He might have disintegrated for all they knew. 

Even the sea rolled lazily and soundless against 
the outer reef. The few vessels that were in the lagoon 
seemed like miniatures, toys that had been set in a field 
of glass, and the circle of water glittered like a huge 
amethyst under the reflected blue of the sky and the kiss 
of the sun. 

Yet there was life here, pulse-leaping life, myster¬ 
ious, eerie, blood-quickening, though noiseless. It 
required time for it to unfold its romance, to spread 
its gifts before the neophite; time for the spell of the 
Tiaro to waft one into forgetfulness of that brain¬ 
cracking, body-wrecking Thing called Civilization; but 
the lure was indomitable, unconquerable, and the wan¬ 
derer had surely come to the end of his road, and all, 
all that was away seemed but a dreary, forbid¬ 
ding wilderness. 

But the spell of the Tiaro was not for the tran¬ 
sients, the pop-in and pop-out kind that occupied the 


THE MAN FROM MANILA 


221 


hotel veranda. It was a silly superstition to laugh 
about, and not to be taken seriously by that sophisti¬ 
cated bird of passage, the superciliously impudent globe 
trotter. These people had come “ a-slumming,” a mere 
hop off between boats. They were equipped with white 
flannels and an imagination—a very naughty one. Here 
was lasciviousness in the nth degree—sensuous per- 
miscuity—every dark-skinned maid a Circe of insatiate 
passion—the island, Nature’s wild bagnio of sloe-eyed 
odalisques. Old Noah Webster, and the guide books, 
a hundred writers of yarns had spread the glad tidings. 
The boasted Tiaro had two shapely legs, was full 
chested, had red, red lips, the very “ divil ” of a pair 
of coaxing eyes, and an undulating glide, a mischievous 
swing of the hips that didn’t mean a particle of good. 
The very atmosphere oozed concupiscence, every sylvan 
dell whispered of a thousand rendezvous, every purling 
brook and lace of water tumbling over rock lusty 
nature’s veil to obscure the gambols and laughing chat¬ 
ter of wantons. Gloriously entertaining depravity, 
always hidden from prying eyes and cocked ears, ’tis 
true, yet so vividly picturable to the psychical minds 
of the cultured, the pure in heart, and the 
righteously moral. 

A group of chattering native girls that were passing 
the hotel veranda on their way to the beach furnished 
a stimulus for wagging tongues to renew the swopping 
of delectable titbits of naughty romance, salacious stor¬ 
ies of unholy gladness and joy that one or another of 
the tourists had harvested, and now retailed with color- 


222 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


ful exaggerations that were considered quite permis¬ 
sible. A soap maker from London, Sir Sylvester 
Cobb, who purveyed it to His Majesty the King, and 
was a vestryman of a fashionable church, swung about 
in his chair and excitedly adjusted his eyeglasses, as 
keenly alive to feminine charms and capabilities as a 
Turk bent on replenishing his harem. Archibald, his 
heir, a callow youth with an amorous ambition and a 
smutty moustache, darted precipitately to the veranda 
rail, and furiously smirked and winked at one of the 
girls who happened to glance toward him with what 
he considered an expression of furtive expectancy. His 
sister Clarice, a tall and willowy brick-tinted blonde 
who had inherited a few of her father’s weaknesses, and 
just doted on the unconventional, was a close and 
enthusiastic second. The Very Reverend Barclay 
Poindexter, who being a bishop had been considered 
an eligible addition to the Cobb world romping party, 
pursed his lips in owlish disapproval, while Lady 
Sylvester glared from one to the other of her trouble¬ 
some family, her tongue clicking vigorous reproof 
against the roof of her mouth. 

Sil lee-e! Archi bald-d! Clar-r-rice! ” she ran it 
in a diatonic scale, tapping peremptorily upon the table 
with her fan. 

It was a command to right-about face, and a 
promise of a sizzling rebuke the very moment that she 
got them out of the earshot of strangers. Father’s 
glasses tobogganed down his nose and he skidded about 
in his chair; Archibald reluctantly left the rail with 


THE MAN FROM MANILA 


223 


an angry glance toward the Very Reverend Poindexter, 
who he somehow suspected of having put up a job on 
him; while Clarice, to the secret admiration of her 
father, did exactly as she liked—which was to remain 
where she was. Lady Sylvester gazed solemnly at the 
clergyman, mutely calling attention to the heft of 
the cross that she had to bear, and he nodded 
back understandingly. 

“ The perfectly scandalous stories that I have heard 
about these people! Ough! I will be a happy woman 
when I have seen the last of this awful island! ” she 
declared, and it sounded as if she thought that this was 
the last sad thing that could happen to it. 

Captain Bulfinch leaned across from a neighboring 
table. 

“ Mail boat’ll be in any moment now, ma’am! ” he 
told her, with a sarcastic grin. 

She favored him with a withering glance. 

“ So good of you,” she drawled, her lip curling with 
supreme contempt for the little Thing that had spoken. 

“ Yes’m! ” he agreed, composedly turning his back 
and addressing himself to the French Commissioner. 

“ Puffectly scandaluvious stories, sez she! Did ye 
notice th’ funnel shape o’ th’ ol’ gal’s ears? Kin ye 
eemagine th’ riot she’ll be when she gits back among 
them puffectly nice dames t’ hum? I’m plum’ sorry fer 
Archzzbawled, ’n’ Clar^£, ’n’ poor ol’ what’d she 
call him—Sil lee? SWlee! Ain’t that a hell of 
a name ? ” 

As Captain Bulfinch predicted, the Indo-Australian 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


224 

southbound mail boat arrived in a little less than ten 
minutes, heralded by a long, hoarse blast of her whistle 
that continued until her black bows, her decks awninged 
in red and white, and her saffron-colored funnels had 
appeared around the arm of the harbor. Craps, the 
cockfight, even the everlasting game of checkers, came 
to an abrupt end, the participants hurrying to the wharf 
as noisily and excitedly as small boys who had been 
waiting for the arrival and unloading of a circus train. 
Quite a few of the tourists, including the Cobb party, 
gathered up their wraps, and, after much handshaking 
and “ hopes-to-meet-again,” started for the launch that 
was waiting to carry them out to the vessel, and were 
followed by the porters carrying their hand baggage. 

Jim Hayes sat, quite alone, in a secluded corner of 
the hotel veranda, and watched the vessel as it came to 
anchor. The day before he had asked for a leave of 
absence, a week or two to recuperate, which Clay had 
granted, and the Lark, with Poni in command, had 
carried him to town. From his arrival he had kept 
to his room, ceaselessly pacing it for hour after hour, 
and waiting, with hysterical impatience, the moment 
when the jaws of his trap would close on Clay. The 
mail boat should bring Clay’s nemesis in the shape of 
an officer from Calcutta if his deductions had been 
correct—if John Clay was John Craig. But if he was 
wrong, if he had jumped to a ridiculous conclusion, if 
his own evil genius had played a cruel little joke upon 
him, if John Clay was not John Craig, his only salva¬ 
tion was to board this same boat and place as many 


THE MAN FROM MANILA 


225 


leagues of sea between himself and the Sphinx as 
possible. John Clay would strike—viciously: he always 
did. He had seen him mercilessly flailing down four 
times his weight in human brutes who had chosen 
mutiny as a fitting climax to a drunken revel; he hadl 
heard the gun-like crack of a sjambok of hippopotamus 
hide as it cut clothing to shreds and bit deep into the 
flesh of a shrieking Judas who had betrayed the secret 
of a rich pearl bed, and once a man had attempted to 
abduct one of his native girls, even had her aboard 
his vessel when Clay struck. The girl was rescued, 
the vessel now laid in ten fathoms of water just outside 
the reef, and— perhaps —the crew succeeded in swim¬ 
ming the fifty or sixty odd leagues to the next island. 

Reflections upon these episodes brought wild ter¬ 
ror. He cursed himself for a lunatic that had planned 
his own destruction. A creak on the stairway sent 
him cowering against the wall, nervously fingering his 
revolver, and obsessed with the hallucination that Clay 
had already started to hunt him down. For a long 
time he would stand eyeing the door, then he would 
stagger weakly to the table for brandy or morphine; 
huge gulps and doses, enough to kill a man and yet—so 
utterly ineffective. Only when the whistle announced 
the vessel’s entrance into the harbor did he leave his 
room and make his way down to the veranda. 

But one passenger disembarked from the vessel. 
He carried little baggage, a Gladstone bag and a suit¬ 
case, which augered a hurried trip and a short stay. 
Hayes watched him with feverish impatience as he 
is 


226 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


climbed from the launch onto the wharf. He jumped 
to the conclusion that this was the government agent 
who had been sent in response to his radiogram and the 
crushing weight of his depression lifted. His mind 
ceased to snap from one terror to another. Now that 
the Law had come he no longer felt so infinitesimally 
small, so fearfully alone and afraid. He no longer 
need skulk in the shadows, cowering in fright before a 
relentless John Clay who, though leagues away, seemed 
to be towering over him, an unconquerable spirit using 
no sjambok on this second Judas, but destroying him 
by the sardonic threat of an inconceivable revenge, driv¬ 
ing him into sheer insanity because he could not conjec¬ 
ture just what John Clay would do. 

As the man drew nearer, Hayes’ eyes popped unbe¬ 
lievingly, and he snarled an oath between his teeth. This 
fellow couldn’t possibly be a government agent—a puny 
little runt of a man who stumbled along uncertainly, 
each foot seemingly propelled forward only by a hercu¬ 
lean effort of will, his face deathly white, his eyes dark- 
circled and glittering feverishly. Mai de mer evidently, 
and Hayes could neither conceive the Majesty of 
Britain’s Law as runtish or subject to seasickness. 

It was a forlorn hope, but he followed the newcomer 
into the hotel lobby, and worked his way to the registry 
desk so that he might get a glance at his signature. It 
was scrawled with much difficulty. 

John Watkins, Manila, P. L 
Hayes turned away with an oath on his lips. It would 
be two weeks before another boat, two weeks of associa- 


THE MAN FROM MANILA 


227 


tion, night and day, with the spectre of vengeance that 
was driving him into madness. Something whispered 
to him to get away “ while the going was good,” to board 
that mail boat in the harbor. He started quickly for the 
door but a glance told him that its screw was already 
churning the water. He turned back, the old terror 
gripping him, and, flinging unprintable epithets at him¬ 
self for having ever sent that cursed radiogram, he made 
his way to the stairway that led to his room. He had 
scarce reached it when he heard an exclamation of alarm 
from the clerk. Watkins was leaning against the desk, 
his hand clutched to his side, an expression of intense 
agony on his face. 

Watson quickly recovered and, as the clerk handed 
the room-key to the bell boy, he asked a question that 
startled Hayes and brought him to a quick right-about. 

“ Are you acquainted with a man named John 
Clay? ” he was asking. “ I understand that he has a 
plantation on some one of these islands.” 

“ I guess John Clay is known all over the South 
Seas,” the clerk told him. “If you want to see him 
you’ll have quite a jaunt, though. It would take a fast 
motor boat at least five hours to reach him.” 

“ How do I get there? ” 

“ It isn’t a regular stopping place for coast vessels. 
Sometimes one can catch a trader going that way. 
Don’t know of a chance now, though. His own 
schooner runs in here once in a while, but you can’t 
depend upon that. It don’t show up for three months 
sometimes. The only suggestion that I could make is 


228 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


to charter a launch. Captain Bulfinch has one that is 
very speedy. I guess you will have no trouble in mak¬ 
ing arrangements with him.” 

Satisfied that the undersized Watkins was a govern¬ 
ment detective, Hayes had stealthily edged toward the 
door. He had no desire to remind the clerk of his 
presence in the hotel, and, above all, heartily wished to 
avoid any questions that Watkins might ask. He had 
done his part, and the arm of the law could reach Clay 
as best it could—swim for all he cared. From now on 
he proposed to keep his conscience clear. He negotiated 
the passage to the door with his nerves snapping des¬ 
perately, and heaved a great sigh of relief, when he had 
managed to slip undetected through it, and out upon 
the veranda. 

At Watkins’ request to be put into immediate com¬ 
munication with the launch owner, Captain Bulfinch 
was summoned from the veranda and introduced by 
the clerk. 

“ This gentleman wishes to be carried to John 
Clay’s plantation,” he told the captain. 

“ You surely don’t want t’ go there, t’night? ” the 
captain queried in surprise. 

For some moments Watkins did not answer. Lost 
in thought, he weakly leaned against the desk, appar¬ 
ently trying to decide between an immediate departure 
and waiting over until the next day. The others 
watched him apprehensively, for they realized that he 
was only keeping himself on his feet by sheer strength 
of will. 


THE MAN FROM MANILA 


229 


“ Ye’r a sick man! ” Bulfinch sympathetically ex¬ 
claimed, “ better rest up for a day or two. Ye needn’t 
worry none but that ’ere island’ll stay right there. 
Ain’t moved a bit in a dang long while. Couldn’t git 
there ’fore long arter ten nohow, an’ Clay’ll be none too 
tickled t’ have us come a bustin’ in on him at that 
time o’ night. Don’t like t’ be pestered none t’ much in 
th’ daytime. Dang pee-coo-ler cuss! Besides the job o’ 
gittin’ into that lagoon in the dark ain’t no job fer a 
good Christian. T’morrer, sez ye? ” 

“I am not well,” he agreed, “ and that is all the 
more reason that I should get there quickly. My busi¬ 
ness is urgent —very urgent. We will have no argu¬ 
ment about your price, so let us start at once.” 

“ Well,” Captain Bulfinch shrugged his shoulders 
in surrender, “ if ye find yerself a sittin’ on a lump o’ 
coral, don’t blame me if it hurts! ” 

“ I must take that risk,” Watkins grimly replied. 
Directing the bellboy to take the suitcase to his 
room, he picked up the Gladstone bag, and followed the 
launch owner out of the hotel. From a corner of the 
veranda, Hayes watched them as they made their way 
to the wharf. Then, with a chuckle of triumph, he 
started along the beach toward Tahiti Tom’s. 


CHAPTER II 


MOONLIGHT MADNESS 

“ Sentinel Hill ” they called it, a cliff that 
towered a full thousand feet above a sea that surged 
and pounded through acres of grotesque rocks at its 
base, only to dash into a shrieking inferno of sheeted 
spray high up the sheer side of the cliff itself. It had 
left strange figures, the sculptures of an aeon of centur¬ 
ies, that leered down at its impotency—caves in which 
the gull and sea hawk, with the majestic indifference of 
folk of the air, had found either nest, a momentary 
resting place, or box seats when nature, becoming hys¬ 
terical, choose to stage one of her melodramatic spec¬ 
tacles and the waters run amok. 

This cliff was reached from the compound gates 
by a path of crushed coral that now gleamed like a 
ribbon of phosphorus under the reflection of the moon. 
The path ended at the foot of a stairway of crude steps 
that had been cut in the landslide of the cliff, and this 
stairway, winding precariously at times, reached to its 
summit, a flat space perhaps twenty feet square that 
was entirely clear except for two boulders carved into 
rude but picturesque settles. 

One side of the cliff overlooked a little valley, 
and here was a semi-circle of bamboo and palm- 
thatched huts, each on its own paepae bae, that housed 
the native help of Clay's plantation—a tribe in itself, 
230 


MOONLIGHT MADNESS 


231 


with its own chief freely administering its tribal laws, 
and free to enjoy its ancient customs without the inter¬ 
ference of the impudently proselytizing white man. 

In the glare of a half dozen fires, a full hundred of 
natives were holding a gala celebration in honor of 
some one of their many pagan gods. Old men and 
women were chanting weird melodies to the thump of 
tom-tom and log drum, the shrill notes of wooden pipes 
and the ear-splitting screech of crude stringed instru¬ 
ments, to which Fung Shui, a guest of honor, was con¬ 
tributing his more than mite, with great dexterity, upon 
the instrument that Jim Hayes abhorred, his one-string 
Chinese fiddle. Semi-nude girls and youths, flower- 
bedecked and paint-bestreaked, were wildly dancing in 
the centre of the circle, their lithe bodies flashing like 
burnished gold in the red glare of the fires. Every 
step of supple leg or wave of shapely arm, every fling 
of head or flash of eye, or ripple of sinew and muscle, 
was but a part of a wordless drama, a joyous romance 
of the wild, and dim old eyes squinted from the sur¬ 
rounding circle as keenly critical as the blase of a 
London pit. 

There was palm wine a plenty, namu enata, passed 
around in cocoanut shells, and, back in the shadows, 
kava in preparation—that mule-kicking liquor made 
from the yam-like root of a pepper plant. It was pure 
“ bootleg,” too, for Clay emphatically proscribed it— 
that was the reason that it was made in the shadows. 
Matrons were scraping the roots into a kind of slaw, 
and four or five of the healthiest girls, whose teeth had 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


232 

passed a hundred per cent, the scrutiny of the medicine 
man, were busily chewing and spitting this slaw into 
cups of banana leaf. Presently these would be emptied 
into a trough, cocoanut juice poured in, a net of cocoa- 
nut fibre swept through to clarify the mixture, after 
which quick fermentation—and a hysterical dabbling 
into saturnine immoralities that even Lady Sylvester 
Cobb would have given her eye-teeth to have been able 
to retail to her friends at home. 

Clay was sitting upon one of the stone settles. 
He was smoking his pipe and watching Pan, who half 
reclined at the edge of the cliff. Her chin was resting 
in the palm of her hand and her eyes were flashing 
from one to the other of the troll-like groups below. 
She lay very still, her body held tensely rigid. Under 
the reflecting moon rays her face gleamed like sculp¬ 
tured ivory against the deeper shadows of the night. 
She made no sound except now and then a sigh that 
was as quickly stifled. Clay sensed her struggle against 
the allure of savage music, and a half-amused smile 
flickered on his lips. 

A fortnight had passed since the marriage at the 
little mission church, and he admitted to himself that 
the fortnight had been replete with keen enjoyment, 
and a comfort that he had never known since he had 
left his boyhood home in the hills of old Canterbury. 
Never once since that first night had she betrayed 
the disappointment gnawing at her baffled heart. No 
slave had ever served a potentate so faithfully. She 
seemed to be possessed of a psychic power in antici- 


MOONLIGHT MADNESS 


233 


pating his every wish, and when the old moods came— 
his desire for solitude—far less frequently now, how¬ 
ever, she quietly drifted away to chum with her friend, 
the cockatoo among the flowers of the compound, or 
out to Fung Shui’s kitchen to putter away with his pots 
and pans. She was learning to read—in her own way 
—by firing questions at him, broadsides that kept his 
brain a-jumping. It seemed to him that she wanted 
to find out what he knew rather than any knowledge 
that she sought for herself—pure curiosity but with 
most astonishing results. Her primer was the very 
largest book in his collection—she was “ no piker,” 
was Pan. She had selected it because it was the largest, 
and had the finest binding. A paragraph conquered, 
and out she would fly to the kitchen, and read it to 
Fung Shui. It was a laborious but triumphant task to 
show Fung Shui how very smart “ my John Clay ” 
was that he was able to read “ dose t’ings.” 

“ Heem know a beeg, beeg lot, eh?” she would 
ask when she had finished, and Fung Shui always 
nodded his head, with many enthusiastic “ ai, ai’s ” 
by which he won a position next to Clay’s in the matter 
of intelligence. Yet, with it all, Clay was still uncertain 
that the wild blood that leapt within her would long 
submit to curb, that pagan Truth could ever become 
thoroughly civilized. 

There was a sudden change of tempo in the bar¬ 
baric music below. It became faster, a veritable frenzy 
of shrieking, twanging, and thumping. This savage 
attack on melody aroused the dancers to unbelievable 


234 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


feats of leaping, kicking, and spinning, a bouncing 
toward or away from one another, as they grotesquely 
twisted and contorted their bodies into poses that were 
of a tradition as ancient and as interpretable as the 
sculptures carved on the walls of the buried temples of 
old Luxor. A masterpiece of the ages was now being 
brought to its climax, its master scene, and the music¬ 
ians wheezed asthmatically between every bulge of 
cheek or swing of arm. Sweat in great globules oozed 
out upon the well-oiled bodies of the dancers, and the 
voices of those squatting in the outer circle rose into a 
babel of shrieks—squeals from sopranos and tenors, 
grunts and howls from bassos—for enthusiasm, and 
palm wine, and kava, had made mere words of no con¬ 
sequence whatever, and this pandemonium of noise 
echoed and re-echoed through the surrounding crags 
as if a hullabaloo of mimicry from a myriad of spooks 
roistering in their shadows. 

Clay was aroused from his reflections by an exult¬ 
ant cry from Pan. Her blood aflame, her nerves snap¬ 
ping arcs of living fire, she had succumbed to the 
diablerie of uncanny music and song, the eerie symph¬ 
ony of the echoing hills, the delirious whirl of the 
elvish bacchants. He saw that she had come to her 
knees, her face aglow with a supreme joy, and her body 
pivoting at the hips in sinuous voluptuous curves. At 
times she bent far back until her hair swept the ground, 
then swinging forward, her forehead would almost 
touch her knees, while her arms and hands were ex¬ 
tended and rippling like quicksilver in undulating 


MOONLIGHT MADNESS 


2 35 

rhythm with the barbaric fantasia. It was the 
supreme of breath-taking grace, tantalizingly inviting; 
the earthly replica of a nymph of paradise in sensuous 
courtesy to the god of forbidden delights, and Clay, 
a little resentful of this relapse of his protege, could 
voice no word of reproof, and found, to his amaze¬ 
ment, that he was wonderingly awaiting the climax of 
her plunge into this maelstrom of volcanic emotions. 

She bounded to her feet and whirled toward him. 
With an alluring, seductive smile on her lips, lips 
fringed with the gleam of ivory and provocative of 
kisses, she covered the ground as lightly, as noiselessly 
as a butterfly tipping an orchid. Her throat pulsed 
with the trill of a wordless song; her eyes, with lids 
half drooping, flared with the smouldering fire of 
insatiate passion, and her arms flashed toward him an 
appeal so magnetic that it was only by a superhuman 
effort that he controlled the wild urge to leap toward 
her, to seize her in his arms, to take reprisal for the 
many years of love that he had lost. It was a half 
savage Salome dancing before her suzeraine, not for 
the head of a wandering philosopher, but for the heart 
of the king himself—and the king was slipping, and his 
crown of wisdom was very much awry. Maddening 
memories again raced through his brain, memories of 
a serpent bulging with venom that had been concealed 
in that old garden of dreams, and with these memories 
came, for the first time, a realization of the devastat¬ 
ing, ravening starvation of his heart—a heart that, 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


236 

after so many years, and now in fierce rebellion against 
being used solely as a repository for an undying hatred. 

She had tucked the skirt of her robe in the folds 
of her obi that her legs might be free, and he marvelled 
at the grace of reflexing muscles, the poesy of swinging 
knee, and the little feet that seemed never to touch 
the ground. She seemed to float toward him like a 
dryad perched on a wave, her eyes dazzlingly persuas¬ 
ive, her arms mischievously offering unnamable de¬ 
lights that only the next instant would be provokingly 
withdrawn. He suddenly straightened up, and she 
instantly sensed his desire to seize her. She throated 
a tantalizing trill, a “catch me if you can.” He 
reached out to snatch and draw her to him, but uttered 
an exclamation of amazement, so quickly did she flash 
beyond the reach of his hand. It seemed as if it had 
passed through a phantom that floated in the air, an 
etherial shape that he likened to an impenitent peri that 
had been ousted out of Heaven, and was now baiting 
with the very thing that he despised. 

Her laughter rang clear as she bounded away, its 
triumphant mockery stinging him to the quick. But 
acquiescent defeat had never been written in his code. 
He chuckled grimly, and settled back with pretended 
indifference to throw her off her guard. She was 
whirling now, spinning like a top. She had slipped her 
arms from the loose sleeves of her robe, and it now 
swung at her waist, her nude torso radiating from the 
silver of a moonbeam to the flickering tint of burnished 
gold reflecting from the fires below. Nearer and nearer 


MOONLIGHT MADNESS 


237 


she came, her bosom pulsing to the cadence of swinging 
leg and arm. His hand snapped forward, and again 
closed on the empty air. She had darted under it, and 
thrown herself before him, lying back across his knees, 
and reaching up to twine her hands about his shoulders. 
When a man’s a furnace the vows of a monk are twad¬ 
dle. He caught her to him, fiercely, with an unleashed 
passion all the more irresistible for having slumbered 
so long, and he felt her heart’s strong throb against his 
shoulder as his lips caressed her soft young flesh. 

But the lure was a moment’s flash. Came swift 
reaction, pounding thoughts of Tahiti’s Tom’s, the 
“ G’rilla,” Toni the breed, the muck of humanity before 
whom this girl had danced even as she had just danced 
for him. Now struck him with cruel force the 
unheeded warning of Pere Laurens—“She is a wanton 
—a girl that gave herself for money,” the priest had 
said. He started up, angrily pushing her away, and, 
turning his back upon her, he strode to the edge of 
the cliff where he stood gloomily looking out to sea, 
bitterly disappointed in her, searingly contemptuous 
of himself. 

Pan did not move from the huddled heap into which 
she had fallen. The contemptuous harshness with 
which he had pushed her from him filled her with a 
vague terror that even eclipsed the hurt, and she was 
hurt, cruelly so, in that one thing that even civilization 
and culture cannot render invulnerable. In a woman— 
the pride of sex appeal. “ A girl was jus’ for ze mans ” 
was Pan’s crude philosophy. Mere Man has evolved 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


238 

a cleaner code—or was it Woman in revolt—a law 
against a Law decreed by that great breath that breathed 
out of chaos a universe of worlds, and bawdy Nature- 
frolics with the presumptuous dust-made thing that a, 
trillion years or so ago was nothing but a worm. 
Primitive child of nature, Pan’s philosophy held no 
thought of soul. “ Me ” was but a physical body that 
won its mate by the lure of its beauty, even as the 
gaudy color of a flower entices the pollen-laden bee to 
the nectar in its heart. That lure had clashed with a 
code that she could not understand, and, as she had 
ever resented trickery herself, she jumped to the con¬ 
clusion that Clay resented the deliberate trick of seduc¬ 
tion that she had played upon him. 

Twice she called to him, but he did not answer. 
Her nerves snapped under the strain of his ominous 
silence, and, burying her face in her arms, she burst into ' 
a paroxism of convulsive weeping. Finally came the 
muffled sound of her voice, sob-choked and trailing 
along uncertainly. 

“ Me—I—I—wuz ver’ happee t’—dance for yo’! 
Oh, oui, ver’ much! Ver’, ver’ happee zat yo’ tooked 
me in yo’ arm—an’ kees me! ” Her voice broke into a 
little wail. “ Eet wuz ver’ nice! ” There was a pause. 

“ Don’ yo’ t’ink so— don* yo 3 ? ” She waited for his 
answer, but it did not come, and she continued just a 
little defiantly. “ Ees eet so ver’ bad-d zat I wan’ t 
be love’? Pleas’—will yo’—be so ver’ kin’ as t’ tole 
me zat? ” 

He was so quiet that she raised her head, fearful 


MOONLIGHT MADNESS 


239 


that he had gone. His uncompromising back assured 
her, and she heaved a long tremulous sigh. Then came 
a sharp intake of her breath. She had caught sight of 
the moon just dipping into the western horizon. It 
was rather rakishly tipped to one side, and its prankish 
old face seemed to her to be twisted into a malicious 
grin. She straightened up, her face aglow with the 
discovery of the cause of all her troubles. Her eyes 
snapped angrily, and she shook an accusing finger at it. 

“ Cochon! Cochon!” she cried, and then excitedly 
called to Clay, “ Ze moon! Ze moon! Yo’ see heem? 
You see zat feller? Mon pere heem say—oh-h-h he is 

a ver-r-r smart mans, mon pere -” this to impress 

Clay with the superlative wisdom of her father. “ Heem 
say eet sometim’ mak’ a mans— oui, eet ver-r much 
sometim’ mak’ a girl crazee—crazee jus’ like a bug-g! 
Now! Now! Yo* see, yo’ see? Eet ees not me, 
mysel’! Eet ees zis dam’ o’ moon zat do eet! ” She 
hunched her shoulders, and her head bobbed from side 
to side in self-condemnation. “Tchick, tchick! I am 
disgus’ wiz mysel’ zat I am such a little fool! ” 

She made a little gesture that indicated that, as the 
matter had been thoroughly explained, and, of course, 
nicely settled, there was nothing further to be worried 
about. She favored his back with a winsome smile. 

“ An’ now—zat yo’ have—excoosed me—mebbe eet 
ees alrigh’! Yo’ t’ink so? ” 

She rose to her feet and quickly crossed to him. He 
stood close to the edge of the cliff, with his hands on 


240 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


his hips, and she was compelled to bend under his 
crooked elbow that she might look up into his face. 
Her voice was naive but tremulously pleading. 

“ Eet will be ver’ nice if yo’ will t’ink so, my 
John Clay.” 

Disarmed by the pathetic efforts that she was mak¬ 
ing to reinstate herself in his good graces, his sense 
of humor rocked by the naivette of her alibi, he some¬ 
how felt a reversal of positions, that he, himself, had 
been the culprit—a case of the “ Moth and Flame,” 
he the flame, and quite willing to perform its office. 
Why then blame the girl when the bulwark of his moral 
code had been so easily assailed. 

She saw that the flame of anger had gone from his 
face, and her joy bubbled up into a little nervous laugh 
that sank to a whisper when he began to speak. His 
voice was very gentle, and he faltered as he searched 
for words that she would understand. 

“ It is not the Pan of Tom’s cafe that I want—the 
Pan “ G’rilla ” fought for—the one that Pere Laurens 
told me so much about. It is another Pan who is very 
sweet and lovable—but she is like a butterfly; she gives 
me a glimpse of her to let me see how very nice she is, 
and then—away she goes. She is the Pan I want, and 
I am waiting until she comes to stay—for always 

“ Ze Pan zat ees a ladee? ” she asked, breathlessly. 

“ The Pan that is a lady.” 

She nervously clutched and drew up the trailing 
waist of her robe, holding it close to her body. 

“ Pleas’ don’ look! ” she begged, and he obediently 
turned his back. The lady had come again. 


CHAPTER III 

PUPPETS OF FATE 

As they made their way down the path they could 
hear the last feeble outbursts of the revelers, a woman’s 
laugh, the remnant of song, the faint whine of Fung 
Shui’s fiddle, and the snapping and snarling of dogs 
fighting over the remains of the food. Now that the 
moon had dipped out of sight, the strip of crushed 
coral was but vaguely outlined as it curved among the 
shrubbery, the groups of lemon hibiscus, lacebark, and 
umbrella ferns that bordered it. Here and there a 
tao, or tilting cocoanut palm, towered above them and 
cast antic shadows under the impulse of a light breeze 
that drifted across the lagoon, and Pan clung tightly 
to Clay’s arm, not quite sure but that ghosts, hob¬ 
goblins, and other unfriendly what-nots might be lurk¬ 
ing in the murk of foliage. 

As they came into the clearing before the entrance 
to the compound, they heard the swish of water cut by 
the bow of an approaching vessel, and the hum of its 
engine. A moment later the gray outline of a launch 
shot out of the velvet blackness of the night into the 
halo of light cast by the beacon on the gate. It eased 
up to the wharf, and, simultaneous with its thud against 
the pilings, came a stentorian hail that was sharply 
imperative. Clay’s answer was none too cordial. 

“ Who’s there ? ” he challenged, caustically. 

16 


241 


242 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


“ It's Cap’n Bulfinch o’ th’ ‘ Gull ’! ’S that you, 
Mr. Clay? ” 

Clay snapped an affirmative, and strode toward the 
wharf with Pan at his heels. 

“You know that I don’t want anyone lying in here 
after dark-,” Clay began, angrily. 

“ I told th’ cuss so,” Bullfinch retorted, peevishly, 
“ but-” 

“ Told who? 99 

“ This feller I got in th’ cabin. ’S name’s Swotkins, 
er Botkins—came from Maniler. Said he had par- 
tickeler business with you, an’ chartered me t’ fetch him. 
He kinder looke4 sickish afore we started—wobbly 
on his pins an’ green complected. ‘ Belly ache,’ sez 
I t’ m’self, an’ tells him he’d better lay to till mornin’. 
He’s plum’ stubborn though, an’ ’taint human natur’t’ 
argufy agin a man with a fist full o’ money. About 
two hours out he’s doubled up and cussin’ scanda- 
luvious. ‘ Better turn back,’ sez I. He twists himself 
out o’ a half hitch into a marlin’spike knot, which 
howsomever he tried didn’t look none too dignified. 
‘ You keep a goin’, he barks, ‘ that’s what you’re paid 
for,’ same bein’ sure enough gospel. About a hour ago 
I hear a thumpin’ an’ a crashin’. ’Pears to me he’s 
clearin’ decks fer action, an’ I come a bustin’. Here he 
is a standin’ on his pins a wavin’ a gun permiscus. 
‘What’s this?’ sez I, none too comfertable. ‘I’ve 
been a chasin’ him fer ten years,’ sez he, an’ pints in th’ 
corner. I looks, an’ ’taint anythin’ but my ol’ oilskins a 
hangin’ on a hook. ‘ Chasin’ who ? ’ sez I, an’ I’m 


PUPPETS OF FATE 


243 


feelin’ a hull crew of jiggers a skippin’ up my spine. 
He hooks his finger in his eyelid an’ pulls er down with 
a knowin’ grin. * A singin’ whale/ sez he, an' swings 
th’ gun on me. ‘ Bugs, b’gawd,’ sez I, an’ beans him 
with a stool. Then I calls t’ my boy t’ fetch a rope. 
Better come an’ look him over; he’s sure one hell of 
a mess.” 

The guard placed by Bulfinch, a very nervous and 
sweating Kanaka, gave a great sigh of relief when 
they entered the cabin, and seized the first opportunity 
to bolt for the deck. Watkins was lying on the floor, 
his hands and feet securely tied and his head resting on 
a cushion. His face was flushed with a high fever; 
his eyes rolled vacantly from side to side, while from 
his colorless lips came an incessant mumble of inco¬ 
herences. From time to time he strained against his 
bonds, only to _ relax helplessly, and whimper like a 
child. The captain’s ministrations had been confined 
to a wet towel placed on his forehead, and this had 
slipped to one side, disclosing the purple welt where the 
stool had struck him. Pan had stopped at the door. 
Her face was deathly white and her lips trembling with 
sympathy, as Clay knelt beside the sick man. His 
examination was but cursory, and he lost no time in an 
endeavor to form a diagnosis. 

“ Know him ? ” the captain asked. 

Clay shook his head. 

“ We must get him into the house at once,” he said. 

Between them they carried him into the living- 
room. Here, he was laid on a couch and the ropes 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


244 

removed from feet and hands. Pan had followed with 
the Gladstone bag which Bulfinch had handed to her 
before leaving the cabin. This she laid on a chair, 
and turned to watch Clay who had seated himself 
beside the couch. Minutes passed, the silence only 
broken by an occasional restless movement of the sick 
man, the suppressed breathing of the watchers, and the 
ticking of the two clocks, one sharp and quick, poig¬ 
nantly suggesting the Nothingness to come, the other 
in a stately measuring off of a requiem to passing time. 

Watkins uttered a sharp moan, and his hand 
clutched at the right side of his abdomen. Instantly 
Clay was on his feet, his diagnosis verified, and grimly 
issuing orders in a crisp tone that forbade the loss of 
a second’s time in useless questions. Bulfinch and Pan 
hurried to obey. The table was stripped of its furnish¬ 
ings, covered with blankets brought from the store¬ 
room, Watkins carried to it, and disrobed. A kerosene 
stove was brought in, and upon it was placed a kettle 
of water. A smaller table was drawn up, and upon 
this Clay placed a case of surgical instruments 
that he had brought from a cabinet in his own room, 
together with several bottles containing medicines, a 
flask of ether, a gauze mask, and several rolls of anti¬ 
septic bandage. 

At the sight of the surgical instruments, Bulfinch 
turned a pasty white. He wet his lips nervously, and 
glanced enquiringly toward Pan, who was rummaging 
among the contents of the Gladstone bag. 


PUPPETS OF FATE 


245 

“ Whatcha goin’ t’ do?” he asked Clay, his head 
bobbing grotesquely as one afflicted with the palsy. 

“ Operate.” 

Bulfinch sucked in a deep breath. 

“ Gawd! ” he exclaimed, in a hoarse whisper. 

Clay did not look up, but went on arranging 
his instruments. 

“ His only chance —one in a hundred” he said, 
quietly, “ and there’s not a second to lose. You’ll help 
me, of course? ” 

The captain’s eyes wavered blankly from Clay’s 
face to the man on the table. Stark fear filled him to 
his stuttering teeth, and he retreated backwards, bring¬ 
ing a weak arm up in a gesture of repulsion. 

“ I—I—I can’t! ” his voice was husky, and his face 
flushed with shame at the contemptuous expression on 
Clay’s face. “ You may think I’m an unfeelin’ brute, 
but I ain’t! I ain’t squeamish in a fair fight—man to 
man! I’ve mauled, an’ shot, an’ cutlassed ’most all my 
life—it’s had more’n its share o’ blood, an’ I never 
funked— never! But with this feller here, so damned 
helpless, why Mr. Clay, I jus’ couldn’t, I ain’t got th’ 
guts! ” He started for the door, but he stopped when 
half way there. “ When he comes out of it,” he fal¬ 
tered, “ tell him I’m almighty sorry I beaned him with 
that stool.” 

He hesitated, waiting for an answer, but none came, 
and, with a gesture of helplessness, he lurched out upon 
the veranda. Clay neither called him back nor looked 
up from his work. He was placing a damp towel 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


246 

over the eyes and around the face of the patient, and 
adjusting the gauze mask into position. 

He laid his open watch upon the table, and, with 
fingers grasping the sick man’s wrist, began to adminis¬ 
ter the ether. He paid no attention to Pan, still en¬ 
grossed in the solution of the mysteries of the Gladstone 
bag. In one of the pockets she came across a packet of 
papers that were held together by a rubber band, and, 
among these, she found a cabinet-sized photograph. 
This caused her to utter a little crow of delight, and she 
excitedly crossed to Clay and held it across the table 
for his inspection. 

“ Oh see,” she exclaimed, “ zis ees yo’, my John 
Clay!” 

He gaped at it in amazement. It was, indeed, a 
photograph of himself in uniform. It was one that he 
had had taken the day that he had arrived in Peshawar, 
in the far north of India, where he had been sent to join 
the staff of British army officers in charge of a regiment 
of Alfridis. The posing had been the whim of a 
moment, the wish for a souvenir of this one glorious 
day in his career, a step up in grade, and a chance for 
his first active service under the colors. A dozen 
copies had been made, and all save one had been sent 
to friends and relatives in England. The one that 
remained he had given to Gloria Gordon some two 
years later. 

The shock of surprise and his utter bewilderment 
at the theatric appearance of the photograph gave place 
to a riot of questions that surged through his mind for 


PUPPETS OF FATE 


247 


which he could find no logical answers. How did it 
come into the sick man’s possession? For what pur¬ 
pose was he carrying it about in his baggage? What 
connection did a photograph of John Craig have with 
the important business that had urged this stranger, 
despite his illness, to seek John Clay in the dead of 
night? As he took the picture from Pan’s hand, he 
caught sight of a typewritten slip pasted on its back, 
and, as he read the first line or two, his composure 
crumpled under the strain of an astounding discovery. 
The words danced before his eyes, and, like a man 
beaten down, he was compelled to shake his head vigor¬ 
ously in a desperate effort to clear away the fog. 

It was a complete description of himself, together 
with the date of his escape. The color of his eyes and 
hair, his height and weight, characteristics of gait and 
speech, not one point necessary for identification had 
been omitted—not even- the crease from a bullet, a 
memento of Khaiber Pass and a fanatical, crag- 
intrenched Mohammedan who had run amok, and was 
seeking eternal salvation and God’s everlasting grati¬ 
tude by the killing of an infidel. 

Pan wondered at the change in him, and, just a little 
frightened, she came around the table and clutched at 
his sleeve; but he was oblivious of her presence. His 
face was ashen gray, and he grasped the edge of the 
table to hold himself upright, the picture dropping from 
his nerveless hand and hurtling to the floor. A man 
without physical fear is often a coward under a shock, 
and shock had flooded John Clay’s soul with stark fear, 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


248 

a fear akin to that of one hot gruelling day in the 
Punjab when his horse had stumbled, and he had been 
thrown under the swaying head of a great gray cobra, 
its hood raised and ready to strike. 

Watkins suddenly moaned, stirring about uneasily. 
Its effect upon Clay was voltaic. The fear that had 
gripped him was annihilated; the misery that had 
struck at him with its sardonic ache disappeared under 
the impetus of his iron will. He straightened up, his 
brain clear, ready to cope with the desperate situation 
in which he found himself. His eyes flashed down 
upon his patient, a smile twisting at one corner of 
his lips. So the important business that this fellow 
had with him was to place him under arrest, to bring 
him back to Calcutta; and he, John Clay, was now 
called upon to use all his skill so that this “ chaser 
after singing whales ” should be able successfully to 
turn the trick. Long years in a penal settlement as a 
surgeon’s fee! If imps know anything of the doings 
of Earth, how they must laugh at him in hell. He 
thought of the Sikh of his regiment who had saved his 
life in the Punjab—hurling a knife that had pinned the 
cobra’s head to a tree—and he fingered the scalpel that 
lay at his side, grasping it as one would a stiletto. 

He saw that Pan was staring at him in amazement, 
even drawing away a little frightened that she had 
raised the storm by bringing the picture to him. 

“ I—I not know-” she began, tremulously, but 

his eyes had flashed from her to the flask of ether, and 
whatever else she said seemed to trail off into a mere 
breath so faintly did it register among the sinister 



PUPPETS OF FATE 


249 


thoughts that now engrossed his mind. The Ether? 
Suppose he let her administer it? Just drop by drop to 
ease this man’s soul across the styx ? Bulfinch, his Kan¬ 
aka crew, and many others perhaps, knew the serious 
condition of his patient. Death on the operating table 
had climaxed many a case, so no one would be able to 
condemn—and no one would see him kill. That was a 
hard thing to do when eyes were looking on, especially 
Pan’s eyes that filled with tears at every glance that she 
gave toward the man that was stretched on the table. 

For a brief moment he struggled against the thing 
that he would do, and then, with grim decision, he 
turned to her. 

‘'Would you like to help me? ” he asked, and, 
although he smiled, his voice was hard and strained. 

“ Oh, oui, oui, ver’ much! Eet will mak’ me 
ver’ happee! ” she exclaimed, her eyes dancing 
with eagerness. 

Again he felt the caress of her hand upon his sleeve. 
Conscious of the thrill of its contact, he edged away, 
his face flaming with shame, but inexorable in his deter¬ 
mination. He drew a deep breath—a necessary stimu¬ 
lant against his increasing weakness—and handed her 
the flask. He explained just how the liquid was to be 
dropped, warning her against its volatile character and 
the liability of disastrous results to herself if she bent 
too close to her patient. That she might hold herself 
upright, he brought a low stool for her to stand upon, 
and watched her as she dropped several drops into 
the mask. 

“ Alrigh’ ? ” she turned to him and questioned. 


250 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


He nodded, and she giggled nervously, but broke 
off abruptly with an embarrassed bob of the head to 
the sick man. 

“ Excoose me, M’sieu Man,” she said contritely. 

As she again started to feed the liquid into the 
mask, Clay slipped out upon the veranda. He took 
his station close to an open window, but kept his eyes 
averted that he might not see the tragedy that had begun 
in the living-room. Here he paced his Gethsemane, 
now gloating over the ingenuity by which he was 
destroying the Thing that menaced him, now in dumb 
agony over the thought that he would never again feel 
safe, that ultimately he would be forced to leave his 
island, its comforts, the retirement that he had so long 
looked forward to, and start out again on the long 
gruelling trail, forever dodging and doubling back and 
forth to keep out of the clutches of those who relent¬ 
lessly hunted him as in those first years after his flight 
from India. 

Even in the volcanic rage in which he was plunged, 
he caught the sound of Pan’s voice, and stopped his 
frenzied pacing, drawing close to the window. She 
was singing—crooning rather—something that was 
much like a lullaby. 

“Don’ be ’fraidl Don’ be ’fraidl 
Jus go a sleep. M’sieu Man, jus’ go a sleep 1 
Zen good John Clay, my won’erf ul John Clay, 

Heem come ver’ queek—heem mak’ yo’ well I 
So go a sleep, an’ don’ be ’fraid 1” 


PUPPETS OF FATE 


251 


The effect on Clay was galvanic, and he never knew 
how he reached the sick man’s side—perhaps he went 
through the window—for at the last word of the lul¬ 
laby he had seized the flask from her hand, and hurled 
the mask across the room. He gripped the sick man’s 
wrist, and, a moment later, gave a great sigh of relief. 
Pan was frightened, almost in tears, over the harshness 
with which he had pushed her out of his way, but his 
smile reassured her. 

“ I drop heem alrigh’ ? ” she asked, anxiously. 

“ Splendid! Couldn’t be better 1 ” he told her, and 
patted her shoulder. 

It was John Clay the unemotional, the Sphinx that 
feared no man, that picked up an instrument with the 
cool, impersonal bearing of a surgeon who knew that 
he could bring his patient safely out of the Valley of 
Death, and Pan watched him soberly as he immersed 
it in the boiling water on the kerosene stove. 

“ We are goin’ t’ mak’ heem well, eh, my John 
Clay?” 

“ Yes, you and me! ” he answered gravely. 

She hesitated a moment, and her cheeks softened 
to a quickening bloom. 

“Zat ees ver’ nice!” she said, and bobbed her 
head, importantly. 





PART FIVE 


And when like her, oh Saki, you 
shall pass 

Among the Guests Star-scatter'd on 
the Grass, 

And in your joyous errand reach 
the spot 

Where I made one—turn down 
an empty Glassl 


Omar Khayyam 





A 



CHAPTER I 


THE HOUSE OF FORBIDDEN DELIGHTS 

Watkins, leaning back against the cushions of a 
reclining chair, was watching Clay correcting the faulty 
mechanism of a double-barrelled fowling gun. Having 
adjusted it to his liking, Clay inserted a shell in each of 
its chambers and returned the weapon to its place across 
two pegs in the Wall just outside of his own room. He 
noted the surprise with which Watkins had regarded 
the loading of the gun, and a flash of amusement flick¬ 
ered across his face. 

“You are wondering about the loaded gun?” 
he said. 

“ Well—I understand that there is little or no 
game on these islands, so, naturally, the question 
arises—why? ” 

“ It is a habit bequeathed to me by my forefathers, 
I suppose,” Clay replied. “ In their uncertain times 
they no doubt found many occasions when it was very 
convenient to have a weapon at hand that was all 
primed and ready for business—hawks in the poultry 
yard, a thieving fox, wolves even, or an obstreperous 
neighbor or moss trooper who edged too far over a 
boundary line. You know that a man’s worst enemies 
are not always four footed. The sight of my father’s 
gun—an old flintlock that was his father’s before him— 
hanging upon two pegs above the old stone fireplace, is 

255 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


256 

one of the most vivid memories of my boyhood. It 
was such a security to an imaginative little fellow 
against the ghosts and bogey-men that make stairs 
creak o’ nights, and knock over furniture, and rattle 
pots and pans, as they prowl about in the dark of the 
moon. Many a night I’ve crept down stairs with my 
hair on end and the feel of an icy hand in the small of 
my back, and I’ve curled up under it, not that I could 
reach it, or fire it if I could, but it was comforting to 
be just near it, it looked so all-sufficient. Perhaps that 
is the reason for this one hanging there—the symbol of 
a memory, and a security against—shadows.” 

He crossed to the table and filled his pipe. After 
lighting it he leaned an elbow against a cabinet, silently 
puffing away, and regarding Watkins with such a cold 
impenetrable stare that the man was forced to resort 
to the subterfuge of fussing with the cushions to cover 
up his nervousness. It was several moments before 
Clay spoke, and when he did, it was an abrupt change 
of the subject. 

“ Your progress toward recovery has been remark¬ 
able, and you have now reached the stage when you 
no longer need a physician. All you need is exercise 
and fresh air. I would suggest a ramble along the 
beach, or in the compound, which you can gradually 
lengthen. In a day or so you can visit the village and 
the copra mill. You will find much about the island 
that will be of interest. I have no doubt but that Mrs. 
Clay will be glad to accompany you.” 

“ I shall certainly follow your advice,” Watkins 


HOUSE OF FORBIDDEN DELIGHTS 257 

replied. “ It will be mighty good to be about again. 
I know that I have been a great nuisance both to your¬ 
self and your wife, and that I can never repay what you 
have done for me. I owe my life to you.” 

Clay shrugged his shoulders indifferently. 

“ Oh, I have enjoyed you immensely,” his lips were 
smiling but his voice was hard. “You have been a 
very interesting subject to experiment upon, and you 
can thank whatever god you like that the experiment 
was a success. In a few days you will be quite fit 
enough to resume your business affairs—particularly 
that very important one that made you so anxious to 
connect with me.” 

Again came the rage against the trick that fate had 
played upon him, and he whirled about and reached 
for his hat, feeling that he could no longer control the 
hot blood that surged within him. His hands clenched 
until the nails bit into the flesh as he fought back the 
same murderous impulse that had come over him 
when his photograph had so dramatically popped into 
view. Watkins sensed his struggle, but regarded 
him unflinchingly. 

“ You know who I am,” he said quietly. 

“ I do,” Clay snapped sarcastically. “ You are a 
captain in the British-Indian Army working in the 
department of military police; in other words, a secret 
service officer. You are seeking an escaped military 
convict named John Craig. At first this was only my 
presumption brought about by the chance finding of a 
photograph, but later, owing to your stubborn insis- 
17 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


258 

tence upon dying on my hands, it became necessary to 
rummage among your effects for further information 
about yourself, a forwarding address for the corpse, 
so to speak, and the presumption was verified.” 

“ It is all quite true.” 

“ And I suppose that you are quite satisfied that I 
am the John Craig that you are seeking? ” 

“ Oh, yes!” 

“ Well, what then ? ” 

There was a faint suggestion of a smile upon 
Watkins’ face. 

“ I shall try to induce you to go back to India 
with me.” 

Clay’s laugh was like a snarl from a jungle. 

“ Well, now, that’s real good of you! Perhaps you 
will tell me just how you propose— 

Watkins raised a protesting hand. 

“ I can well understand your bitterness,” he said 
with a sympathetic nodding of his head, “ and, under 
the circumstances, I marvel that you let me live. I said 
* induce you to go back,’ I did not mean as a prisoner. 
Major Craig, within fifteen months after your escape 
your innocence of the crime for which you were court- 
martialed was completely established. It was found 
that you had been the victim of a dastardly frame-up.” 

Clay stood as one transfixed, staring at Watkins in 
amazement and, for the moment, quite unable to utter 
a sound. He clutched uncertainly for a chair at his 
side and, finally gripping it, pulled it behind him and 
sank down, covering his face with his hands, his body 



HOUSE OF FORBIDDEN DELIGHTS 259 

convulsing under the throe of his well-nigh superhuman 
efforts to control the flooding tide of his emotions. 
Pan had just entered from the garden, and, sensing 
something wrong with him, flew across the room, the 
armful of flowers that she had gathered scattering 
about her as she dropped on her knees by his side. 

“What ees eet? What ees ze matter, my John 
Clay? ” she exclaimed, in an agony of anxiety. 

He patted her hand, shaking his head to reassure 
her, then lifted his eyes to Watkins. 

“ Tell me about it,” he said, and his voice was 
husky, almost a whisper. 

“ I was commissioned on the case immediately after 
your escape,” Watkins began. 44 I trailed you for a 
year. At Singapore, Cairo, Tunis, I was exactly one 
day behind you, and, I am free to admit, I thoroughly 
enjoyed your seemingly hopeless efforts to get away 
from me.” He chuckled at the reminiscence. “ But 
you weren’t playing the 4 giddy goat 9 at all. You had 
gained two weeks at Rio de Janeiro, and the trail was 
cold, so chillily so that you quite annoyed me. It took 
me six months to pick it up again in South Africa; 
I think they called the ungodly place Somabula. It’s in 
Rhodesia. There I learned that you had cleaned up a 
fortune in the new diamond fields. The rest was a 
weary treading of blind alleys and, keenly sore at my 
failure, I returned to Calcutta.” Apparently there was 
no relish in this recollection, for Watkins scowled and 
his face flared crimson. 44 Oh, I got the 4 big bird ’ 
all right,” he continued half angrily, 44 they didn’t 


26 o 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


pin any medals on me when I got there. Well, all 
that’s past and gone. I needn’t ask if you know 
old Grid? ” 

“ Jim Gridley? ” 

“ That’s him! Well, one night I met Colonel 
Gridley at a Government House reception—he was a 
major then. ‘Get him?’ he asks. ‘No,’ I an¬ 
swered. ‘ Congratulations,’ says he, ‘ let’s get out of 
this infernal mess. Do you like Johnnie Dewar? No, 
don’t answer! ’Taint necessary! To deny affection 
for good Scotch is lese majestie. We’ll have a drink, 
several of ’em, bedad, and then I’ll tell you why you 
shouldn’t have caught Johnny Craig.’ Now the last 
man I wanted to talk about was Johnny Craig. You’ll 
pardon me for saying it, but I had had quite enough 
of him. But you know Gridley. I fancy he’d even 
run old Bangg out of that ballroom by the scuff of the 
neck if he wanted a private conference. So we called 
a ticca gharrie and went to his quarters. When we got 
there he sent for a ressaldar major, a sikh named Nanak 
Singh. Know him?” 

“ Next to Gridley, my best friend.” 

“ I know it! Well, after the ceremony of a drink 
or two, we lighted cigars and Gridley opened up, start¬ 
ling me with a terse outline of a new angle of the case 
which had not been investigated at the time of your 
arrest, and the more I listened the more respect I had 
for that French maxim —cherchez la femme.” 

“ ‘ There was a woman,’ Gridley declared, ‘ much 
as Johnny Craig denied it and balked me at every turn 


HOUSE OF FORBIDDEN DELIGHTS 261 


when I wanted to bring it before the sapheads that 
made up that damned court-martial. Watkins, I’m 
telling you that Carringford framed him as sure as 
God’lmighty made little apples. He didn’t loot that 
safe. Nobody’d believe it but the bunch of snobs that 
licksp-ittled Carringford, and bastardized public opinion 
against Johnny. Now listen! Johnny had been paying 
attention to a girl named Gloria Gordon. How far 
the affair had gone I don’t know, but he was certainly 
sappy about her. But she was a girl with a wan¬ 
dering heart. Now on the night of the regimental 
ball Carringford was her escort, and Craig remained 
in his quarters. I found him there, and I have a hazy 
recollection of his doing a devil’s promenade about the 
room, gnashing his teeth, and looking for something 
to bite. Our lady-killing colonel had captured his girl, 
see ? Now, at the court-martial Carringford swore that 
Miss Gordon had complained of illness, and, at her 
request he had escorted her home, and had gone direct 
to his own quarters.’ ‘ He lied,’ Nanak Singh put 
in, ‘ Miss Gordon returned alone. I saw her enter 
her house. She was excited and crying. There was no 
one else in the motor but the worm that drove it.’ 

“ ' Did you so testify at the court-martial ? ’ I asked. 

“ ‘ Major Craig swore me to secrecy,’ he replied, 
‘ and I ask no questions when my friend demands 
a service.’ 

“ ‘ But the driver of the car! Surely he was called 
as a witness,’ I exclaimed. 'We have never been 
able to find him,’ Gridley replied with one of those 


262 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


peppery expletives for which he is noted. * Carringford 
sent him away! Can’t you see it? Now why did 
Johnny insist upon Nanak Singh’s silence? A one- 
eyed octogenarian owl could see it, sir! They had 
quarrelled over this Gordon girl,—and she was there, 
—not at the ballroom, not at Craig’s quarters, but at 
Carringford’s. Craig found her there and, realizing 
that the girl’s reputation was at stake, he casts himself 
for the role of Don Quixote,—keeps mum with 
prison staring him in the face, and that’s as sure 
as scripture! ’ ” 

“ But I don’t see what all these deductions 
amount to,” Clay interrupted impatiently, “ there’s 
Carringford-” 

“ Carringford is— dead! ” 

“ Dead!” 

“ In a mad fit of jealousy over this same Gloria 
Gordon he shot himself.” 

By this time Clay had quite recovered his habitual 
imperturbability, to all appearances, the startling news 
made no impression upon him. Carringford’s death 
seemed inconsequential, and if he experienced any thrill 
at all, it was because he found neither vindication nor 
pleasure in the fact that Carringford had acted as his 
own executioner and the girl the part of the Nemesis 
that had brought about the catastrophe. 

“ How did that establish the fact that I had been 
made the victim of a frame-up? ” he asked impatiently. 

“ About a week later I received a message from 
Gridley. Nanak Singh wanted me to accompany him 


HOUSE OF FORBIDDEN DELIGHTS 263 

to a place called ‘ The House of Forbidden Delights.' 
It was located on one of the narrow streets, mere lanes, 
in fact, that made up that rather dangerous slum quar¬ 
ter of the city, back of the Lai Bazaar. Nanak Singh 
had given no reason for his request, Gridley said, but 
he assured me that the Sikh never spent his time in 
seeking frivolous amusements, and he felt that the trip 
would be decidedly worth my while. * There is much 
wisdom beneath the big fellow's turban—follow Nanak 
Singh and you learn things,' he said with a laugh. As 
my curiosity was aroused, I agreed to go. 

“ Nanak Singh came for me just after tiffin in a 
ticca gharrie . Unusually taciturn, he gave me no ink¬ 
ling of the object of our trip, but growled a laconic 
‘ you will see ’ to every question. The cart clattered 
through the muggy blackness of the rain, past the 
wretched shops and drinking hells that lined the narrow 
streets. I caught only an occasional shadow, an ogreish 
silhouette of a sailor, mendicant, or woman of the 
scavenger class, that lurched now and then into the circle 
of a flickering light. It wasn’t a pleasant ride. It was 
like splashing through a tranquil pool of mud. A 
strange foreboding that we would see much evil before 
the night was done tempted me to insist upon turning 
back, but the incomprehensible Sikh seemed so uncon¬ 
cerned that I was—well, ashamed to reveal my coward¬ 
ice. At last we came to a stop in some one of a twist 
of streets that I can only liken to a pretzel. Here, we 
alighted and Nanak Singh dismissed the ticca gharrie — 
at least I thought so. He then led me through a stone 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


264 

arch, and down an interminable passage that ended into 
a small flagged court, and, in the blackness of that slice 
between buildings, I am positive that we passed several 
humans, for I heard whispers, a mere word, apparently 
to Nanak Singh, although, so far as I know, he made 
no answer. At one side of the court were several steps 
leading to a door, and over this hung a dimly-lighted 
lantern, a flare of light that was even more ominous 
than the dark itself. ‘ Is this the House of Forbidden 
Delights ? ’ I whispered. He grunted an affirmative, 
and I laughed— inwardly. We lost no time in ascend¬ 
ing the steps, and the Sikh motioned me to one side as 
he pulled at a bell-knob.” 

It was so evident that Watkins thoroughly enjoyed 
each minute detail of his adventure that Clay, despite 
his impatience to have him get to the point in which 
his innocence had been established, determined to let 
him tell his story in his own way. Pan still sat at his 
feet, soberly drinking in each word, and wondering 
what it was all about. 

“ The door opened a bare six inches,” Watkins 
continued, “ and I got a mere flash of a mass of 
whiskers, a hooked nose, and a glare of beady eyes 
topped by a turban, for Nanak Singh had hurled the 
door open, sending the chuprassie bouncing against the 
further wall. The next instant we were both inside 
and the Sikh had kicked the door shut with his heel. 
Our chuprassie came back at him with snake-like sud¬ 
denness, but Nanak Singh clutched him by the throat, 
lifting him until he stood on the tips of his toes. He 


HOUSE OF FORBIDDEN DELIGHTS 265 

flirted his knife back and forth, clipping hairs from the 
fellow’s beard. ‘ Shall I shave you? ’ he asked, none 
too graciously. A woman appeared at the top of a 
stairway and uttered a sharp command to the 
chuprassie who backed against the wall when the Sikh 
released him. 

“ As she descended the stairs I saw that though 
not young she was very beautiful—an exotic vision in 
fluffy gauze and jewelled slippers—her trousers and 
jacket of gold-embroidered silk. She advanced toward 
us with a swaying glide, and a sarcastic curl to her lips. 
With her hands on her hips, she eyed him contemp¬ 
tuously, measuring him from his turban to his steel- 
shod boots. But she might as well have made faces at 
the wall for all it mattered to Nanak Singh. ‘ We come 
to taste the delights of thy house,’ he told her, ‘ and we 
come in peace.’ ‘ My house is but for my friends / 
she scorn fullly declared, and pointed to the door. He 
shrugged his shoulders indifferently. * Twenty of mine 
await me just outside thy door,’ he said significantly— 
and I will admit it made my breath come easier. He 
did not wait for an answer but stalked by her, motion¬ 
ing me to follow. We ascended a stairway and from a 
landing at the top passed into a huge room. 

“ I gasped in astonishment, so different was it to the 
sombre, even dingy appearance of the exterior of the 
house. Its floor was a beautiful mosaic of glass and 
porcelain. Its walls were hung in priceless tapestries. 
There were many deep-seated divans, and cushions of 
richly embroidered upholstery, tables that were deli- 


2 66 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


cately carved and inlaid with silver, ivory, and gold, 
with many bronzes and paintings that suggested the 
satyric idiosyncrasies of the establishment, and each 
worth a fortune in itself. Several arches led off into 
other rooms and, as we passed by one I caught the 
sickening smell of opium and knew it for one of the 
delights —a screened alcove or two were flagrantly sug¬ 
gestive of another. In the centre of the room a score 
of half-nude nautch girls were weaving about to the 
music of a turbaned orchestra squatted on the floor 
just beyond them. There were fully a half hundred 
outsiders there, some of whom I recognized—a tea- 
planter from Darjeeling, the president of a big steam¬ 
ship line, an English commissioner from an up-country 
district, some that were supposedly respectable, and 
many of the demi-monde, each with the usual satellite 
tagging at her skirts. I knew now the character of 
‘ The House of Forbidden Delights/ It was an 
‘ exclusive ’ rendezvous for highflyers, admittance 
granted only to the favored few. 

“ The woman had followed us, apparently resigned 
to the inevitable. She had no intention of arousing 
those twenty Sikhs that lurked about her doorway. 
Perhaps she thought that Nanak Singh had lied, for 
when we left the house we found two of her chuprassies, 
bound and gagged, lying in the passageway. Sikhs are 
given to subtle hints, so we were undisturbed. She 
motioned to a khidmatgar, and he preceded us, salaam¬ 
ing and motioning us to unoccupied places, but Nanak 
Singh strode on, his eyes flashing from group to group. 


HOUSE OF FORBIDDEN DELIGHTS 267 

Finally he pointed to a small divan and table near a 
curtained nook. * Reserved/ the khidmagycw mur¬ 
mured. ‘ For us/ the Sikh growled back and waved 
him aside. 

“ The curtains of the nook were drawn back and 
I saw two people—a man named Bouvoir, half French¬ 
man, half Arab, a fabulously wealthy scamp with a 
peculiar attraction for women. He had been buried 
to the neck in the muck of many a scandal. The other 
was a woman, a tall statuesque blonde of such magnetic 
beauty that I could hardly draw my eyes away. Nanak 
Singh saw this and a chuckle rumbled in his throat. 
‘ The Gordon girl/ he whispered.” 

Clay jerked forward, his hands grasping the arms 
of his chair with such force that white spots flared 
at the knuckle joints, and the play of muscles around 
his jaws and lips revealed his struggle to maintain 
composure at the mention of the name. He opened 
his mouth to speak, but evidently thought better of it, 
and settled back again, motioning Watkins to go on 
with his story. 

“ We had probably been there an hour. The woman 
of the place was performing a solo dance with her 
nautch girls grouped picturesquely about her, and I 
was rather enjoying it, for it had a certain witchery. 
Suddenly Nanak Singh uttered a low grunt of satis¬ 
faction and pointed toward the entrance. I saw 
Carringford standing in the arch, and my intuition told 
me that the Sikh had something to do with his being 
there, that he was a mere pawn in a deadly game, as 


268 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


devoid of volition as an ivory figure in a game of chess. 
Somehow I pitied him, though I could not tell why. 
As he came toward us, I saw that his eyes, glittering 
like pin points, were rivetted upon the pair in the nook. 
He was very pale, there were dark circles under his 
eyes, and a peculiar twitching of his head and shoulders, 
yet his gait was steady, a springy walk with heels 
scarcely touching the floor. 

“ When he had reached them he carefully adjusted 
his monocle, and, with a contemptuous glance at the 
girl, bowed very low to Bouvoir. It was a superlatively 
stately bow—insultingly so. ‘ The King is dead/ he 
said, 4 long live the King! ’ An amiable smile twisted 
at his lips—too amiable by far. His voice was smooth, 
velvety I might say, and we had to keep our ears 
keenly alert to hear what he was saying. Bouvoir was 
plainly frightened and would have left the table if the 
girl hadn’t placed a restraining hand upon his arm. 
As for her, the only evidence of a lack of perfect com¬ 
posure was a bewildered look in her marvellous eyes as 
if it was past all understanding why he had taken the 
trouble to intrude. She even pouted a bit, with the 
intention, no doubt, of letting him know that she was 
very much annoyed. 

“ He snapped the curtains together, shutting out our 
view. I looked at Nanak Singh, and he chuckled. ‘ She 
has been deceiving him,’ he said, ‘ so I create a situation 
and await results. Pray to your God to make him 
mad, for madmen sometimes babble truth/ I knew 
then that the Sikh had sent a message that had brought 


HOUSE OF FORBIDDEN DELIGHTS 269 

him there. I could not distinguish what Carringford 
was saying, and only once I heard the girl’s voice. 
‘ You are very tiresome,’ she said in a weary drawl. 
Then he laughed, an ugly laugh that sent the chills 
scurrying up and down my back. A shot rang out, 
followed by a piercing scream, and the next instant 
Bouvoir came dashing through the curtains, his face 
a pasty white, and his eyes bulging with terror. He 
hurtled the dancers right and left as he plunged for the 
stairway. Several of the men tried to stop him, but 
Carringford had staggered through the curtains drag¬ 
ging the girl with him. 

44 4 Let the poor fool go,’ he shouted, with a wild 
laugh, 4 he’s well out of it! ’ 

44 The crowd were stunned into silence and circled 
around him, yet kept at a distance, for they saw that 
he held a gun in his hand. He was weaving back and 
forth, apparently holding himself upright by sheer force 
of will. The girl was huddled at his feet in an agony 
of hysterical sobbing. He brought his monocle up to 
his eye and grinned down at her. 4 So you can really 
cry, dear heart of stone,’ he said, 4 and the other man, 
the man we ruined— you and I —did you cry for him? 3 
He turned to the crowd. 4 Get her to tell you about it 
after my— exit! Get her to tell you the story of John 
Craig—another fool like myself—but he was a decent 
fool! Ah, this wanton has played a merry game 
with hearts! ’ 

44 But he told it himself, told it from start to finish 
in spite of all her pleading. He told of her coming 


270 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


to his quarters and offering herself as the price for 
the lie he had told. The open safe and the scattering 
about of papers had been a stage set not only to accom¬ 
plish his revenge for the blow you had struck, but an 
explanation for his shortage in a regimental fund. He 
was getting weaker and weaker as he told it, and his 
voice faltered as he reached the end. * So you see I 
am the villain of the play/ he said with a laugh that 
trailed off to a husky whisper, ‘ and now—the Prompter 
has signalled for the curtain, so—let the music start 
up!’ and he sprawled forward on the floor. Nanak 
Singh nudged me. ‘ Come/ he said sharply. The girl 
had fainted. He gathered her up in his arms, and no 
one barred his way as he carried her from the room 
and down the stairway.” 


CHAPTER II 


SOLDIERS THREE 

For a long time Clay sat in moody silence. He 
was hardly conscious that Watkins was detailing the 
events that quickly followed the death of Carringford. 
Nanak Singh had carried the girl to Colonel Gridley’s 
quarters despite her hysterical protests. There, she 
had spent a very unhappy hour with the aggressive 
colonel, and it had culminated in her corroboration of 
all that Carringford had said. Armed with her sworn 
affidavit, together with those of the witnesses of the 
tragic scene in the “ House of Forbidden Delights,” 
Colonel Gridley had carried the matter to the Judge 
Advocate General against great opposition, and even 
laid himself liable to court-martial by going over offi¬ 
cial heads and obtaining an audience with the King 
himself. The argument of his opponents had been 
that Clay was an escaped convict, a crime in itself, and 
that nothing could be legally done in his case until he 
had voluntarily given himself up. Even when Gridley 
had won his point and secured the intercession of the 
King, hostile influence had been so tremendously effec¬ 
tive that all efforts to find the wronged officer had 
strangely ceased and Watkins had been assigned to 
another case. 

“ But about a month ago,” Watkins went on, “ I 
received a message from Colonel Gridley directing 

271 


272 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


me to proceed here, at the earliest possible moment, 
and interview a certain John Clay from whom I would 
undoubtedly learn of the whereabouts of Major Craig. 
This order was countersigned by General Bangg. If 
I found you I was to use every means to persuade you 
to go back with me to India, where your wrong would 
be publicly righted, and you would be restored, with 
all honors, to your former rank in the army. As soon 
as I had located you I was to notify him. I have 
already done so, by wireless, from the vessel that 
brought me here. You see I had no difficulty in 
establishing the fact that the photograph that I carried 
was that of John Clay. Major Craig, many of your 
old comrades are looking for your return, and planning 
a reception seldom accorded to an officer in the army. 
Your staunch friends, Colonel Gridley and Ressaldar 
Major Nanak Singh, have worked indefatigably in 
your behalf, and their only repayment will be to see 
you again in His Majesty’s service, to sit down again 
at the same mess with you. Will you not go back 
with me ? ” 

Pan had remained breathlessly quiet during all of 
Watkins’ long recital, but now, when he seemed to be 
trying to take her John Clay away from her, she sprang 
to her feet and faced him, her eyes blazing and her little 
body shaking with excitement. 

“ What yo’ mean? Yo’ tak’ my John Clay ’way? ” 
she demanded. 

“ I hope to take him back to his old friends,” he 
replied with a smile. 

She turned upon Clay with a cry of alarm. 


SOLDIERS THREE 


273 

“ An’ yo’!” she exclaimed tremulously, “ yo’ will 
tak’ me wiz yo’, my John Clay? ” 

He did not answer her, seemingly trying to sift 
something tangible out of the confusion of astonishing 
events that had been detailed by Watkins. Her eyes 
snapped fire as she glared at the officer. 

“ By golly, yo’ can be ver’ happee zat I am a ladee,” 
she blazed at him, then clutched at Clay’s sleeve in an 
agony of fear. “ Yo’ no tak’ me wiz yo’ I swim after 
ze sheep an’ mebbe—I will be drownded, me! An’ oui, 
mebbe a sharks she will get me—mebbe more as zat — 
seeks, mebbe two ver’ beeg-g ones , an’ zen, zen yo’ will 
be ver-r sorree wiz yo’ sel’! Oh, dam’, yes! ” 

He was now on his feet and nervously pacing the 
floor, but giving no consideration to the question of 
going back, nor experiencing any joy in his vindication. 
He was still in a daze, his nerves strained to the utter¬ 
most, and his mind in such a chaos that he was unable 
to bring it into a rational consideration of the thing 
that he should do. Pan dropped on the floor, and sat 
rocking back and forth on her haunches, the picture of 
abject woe. 

“ Mebbe zis Eendia, she will love yo’ more better 
as me! ” she sobbed. 

He came to her, and raised her to her feet. 

“ Do not worry,” he said gently, “ wherever I go 
you will go too, be sure of that! ” 

He turned away to greet Hayes who had just 
entered by way of Fung Shui’s kitchen with a sheaf of 
papers in his hand. The superintendent had returned 
18 


274 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


that morning from his leave of absence, having over¬ 
stayed by two days the time allotted him. He had 
learned little or nothing of the run of events except that 
Captain Bulfinch had delivered Watkins at the island 
in a dying condition, and that it had required all of 
Clay’s skill to save his life. Nothing else seemed to 
have happened, and he finally reached the conclusion 
that he had been made the victim of his own wild 
imagination, and that the “ escaped convict,” and ex¬ 
pectations of “ reward ” were but part and parcel of 
the fantasies of a fool. Between the hotel and Tahiti 
Tom’s his money had gone, and, cursing the twist of 
his brain that had suggested his investment in a silly 
radiogram, and as empty in stomach as he was in 
pocket, the Lark had been a gladsome sight when it 
pushed its way into the harbor with Poni in command. 

He had entered the room in trepidation, and was 
trying his best to maintain an air of nonchalance, 
but his face was flushed, his legs aggravatingly jumpy, 
and his beady eyes darted from one to the other in his 
uncertainty as to whether he had come into a friendly 
atmosphere or stumbled into a hornet’s nest. Clay’s 
quiet greeting, as he handed him the papers, quite 
reassured him, and his breath came easier. 

“ Captain Watkins, this is my superintendent, Jim 
Hayes,” Clay said in introduction, and he had turned 
to scan the papers—reports of the output of the copra 
mill—when he heard Watkins sharply repeat the name. 

“Jim Hayes! Is there any other Jim Hayes 
around here? ” 


SOLDIERS THREE 


275 

“Not that I know of,” Hayes replied, a little 
apprehensively. 

“ Then you are the man that sent that radiogram 
to General Headquarters at Calcutta! ” 

Clay whirled about, and saw that Hayes was back¬ 
ing away, his face green with fright. 

“ I don’t know what you are talking about,” he 
stammered. “ I didn’t send that—any radiogram-” 

Watkins voice was vitriolic. 

“Why lie? Do you think I passed anything up? 
It turned out all right, but I hate a Judas. What did 
you expect for betraying Major Craig? Why did 
you want to send him to a penal settlement? Was it 
for reward, or are you just naturally a rotten polecat? 
By God, if I was a well man I’d—I’d tear you to pieces.” 

Neither Clay nor Watkins had seen Pan’s quick 
glide across the room. But Hayes, furtively casting 
about for an avenue of escape, caught an agonizing 
glimpse of her out of one corner of his eye. She had 
bounded on to a chair and had clutched the double- 
barrelled fowling gun from its place on the pegs. 
With a yell of terror, he started on a run for the 
veranda as Pan volplaned from the chair and scudded 
after him. Just as he got to the door she let drive with 
both barrels. The explosion was instantly followed by 
a deafening crash. A large cabinet in one corner of 
the room, filled with pottery, glassware, and bric-a-brac, 
had erupted with the force and crash of a miniature 
Vesuvius as Hayes skidded to safety with the agility 
of a loping crane. The heavy gun kicked Pan head 



PANDORA LA CROIX 


276 

over heels, and there was a resounding thud as her but¬ 
tocks struck the floor. Clay, who had vainly tried 
to stop the charge of light artillery, ran to her in alarm. 
She looked up at him with a mirth-provoking expres¬ 
sion of amazement. 

“ Mebbe zat gun she keek, I t’ink,” she explained. 
“ By golly, where I sits eet ees not so ver’ good! 
Did I keel heem? ” 

At the report of the gun, Hayes had wildly leaped 
the steps of the paepae bae, and a jack rabbit couldn’t 
have beaten him through the compound gates. He 
hadn’t the least doubt but that Pan would come charg¬ 
ing out of the house, and he was hysterically spinning 
about seeking for cover when he caught sight of 
Captain Bulfinch’s launch just pulling away frqm the 
landing place. Babbling incoherent relief as he dived 
for it, he nearly bowled over the two passengers that 
had just landed, and hurdled the six feet of water that 
already intervened between the wharf and vessel, 
spreadeagling himself before the astonished captain. 
He was unceremoniously yanked to his feet and 
roundly shaken. 

“ Consarn ye,” Bulfinch roared, “ what’s th’ idear 
o’ yeh tryin’t’ slam a hole in my deck? ” 

“ For God’s sake get me away from here,” Hayes 
chattered, his voice fairly crackling with fear, for he 
realized that he was still within gunshot. Bulfinch, 
perceiving the fellow’s fright, let go of his collar. 

“ Leavin’ ? ” he questioned with a knowing squint. 

“ Yes, yes! And I’m in a hurry! ” 

Bulfinch chuckled. 


SOLDIERS THREE 


2 77 


“ I see ye are! Well, I’ll give th’ engine a talkin’ 
to. It allers chugs up a bit when it sees me a-comin’.” 
He looked him over quizzically, then nodded toward the 
house. “ Heard a hulabaloo up there. Ain’t never 
calculatin’ t’ stick my nose in t’other feller’s soup, but 
I’ll admit I’m a curmis cuss. Anybody hurt? ” 

“ Nobody could be but me / 9 Hayes retorted with an 
injured air. “ I was treated outrageously! ” 

“ Ah, huh! ” Bulfinch nodded understanding^. 
“ From the hell-tootin’ sound I jedge he fired ye! Oh, 
I don’t blame ye fer squawkin,’ fer it must be plum’ 
aggervatin’ t’ have a feller shoot off a hull battery at 
ye when he thinks ye ought t’ resign. Don’t seem 
amiable a tall! ” 

“ It was the girl! ” Hayes angrily exclaimed. “ She 
tried to murder me—murder me in cold blood, and he 
never raised a hand to stop her. Lets her do anything 
she wants and thinks it’s funny! ” He had quite recov¬ 
ered his confidence, for the launch was speedy and they 
had reached the centre of the lagoon. 

“ It is the second time that the vixen has assaulted 
me—the first time was with a knife. Think of it! 
With the point right up against my chest! I overlooked 
that, but this time the worm has turned. I quit on the 
spot— quit, do you understand? You don’t suppose 
I’d let him fire me? No siree, not Jim Hayes! ” 

“No, I don’t specks ye would,” Bulfinch said, and 
turned away with a grin. 

The two men that disembarked from Bulfinch’s 
launch were both in white mufti. One wore a pith 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


278 

helmet, and the other a turban. One was of massive 
frame, and was dark skinned, and with a jet black 
beard, and the other was pudgy, tanned to a leathery 
hue, and had a moustache that sprawled erratically over 
his lips. Both were upstanding men and walked as 
befitted soldiers, for one was the redoubtable Colonel 
Gridley, and the other a ressaldar major, Nanak Singh. 
At the sound of the gun and the smash of glass and 
pottery both had stopped short, glancing from one to 
the other, each wondering what it was all about, and 
then had come the catapulting Hayes and only a quick 
sidestepping had saved them both from being hurtled 
into the lagoon. 

“ Appears to be in a hell of a hurry,” Gridley 
remarked. “ Precipitous, very! ” 

Nanak Singh twisted at his beard and stared at 
the house. 

“ Sounded like a shot,” he said. 

“ Reminded me more of an Afghan serenade up in 
the Pass. Maybe it was somebody celebrating his exit,” 
Gridley suggested. “ Shall we go forward under a flag 
of truce, or had we better deploy right and left and 
advance as skirmishers? ” 

“ I follow you, Sahib Colonel,” the Sikh answered 
with the glint of a smile in his eyes. 

“ Not by a damn sight, you’re going to be right 
alongside of me. Come on.” 

Fung Shui had come bounding in from the kitchen 
at the sound of the crash, and his face had clouded 
with disappointment when he learned that he had missed 
the pleasure of joining in the assault on Hayes. 


SOLDIERS THREE 279 

Assured that Pan had escaped serious injury, Clay had 
replaced the gun on the pegs, making no comment about 
the damage done to his collection. He even did the 
thing that she liked to see him do, he laughed—and 
Watkins laughed, which relieved her from her embar¬ 
rassment—and Fung Shui laughed because they 
laughed—and she laughed, a joyous laugh, because she 
had done the thing that had made them all so “ happee.” 
Of course Fung Shui was curious, and she chattered 
a vivid description of the affair while they were gather¬ 
ing up the litter. 

“Zat Jim Hay’, heem ees a sneaks,” she scorn¬ 
fully declared. “ Heem do somet’ing to my John 
Clay. Oh-h, eet ees somet’ing zat ees ver-r-r 
beeg-g-g! ” Her forehead puckered into a puzzled 
frown. “ I don’ know what she ees—but—she ees 
any’ow! I gets ze gun, an’ when I am keeling zat 
feller, by golly, she shoots at me, an’ dose dishes! ” 
Her eyes blazed, and her head bobbed from side to side 
in withering contempt. “ Such a fool ees zat gun! I 
am slam on ze floor. Such a bump! Ough, oui, ver-r 
much! I am ver’ glad she ees where I sits. Eet ees 
more better zan someplaces where she ain’t! ” 

Clay happened to glance toward the doorway as he 
was listening to Watkins’ recital of the events that had 
followed the receipt of the radiogram. He tried to 
get on his feet, to swing a hand up in salute, but his 
legs and arms seemed set in a cast, and a mist so 
clouded his eyes that the faces of Colonel Gridley and 
Ressaldar Major Singh blurred grotesquely. It was 
only when Watkins had called them by name that he 


280 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


was able to snap out of the grip of his surprise. He 
sprang to his feet and rushed toward them, seizing 
each by the hand, his own sputter of greeting lost in 
the thunderous one of Colonel Gridley and the booming 
of that of Nanak Singh. They all talked together, 
laughing like hysterical women, neither paying any 
attention to what the other was saying; the babble of 
tongues being quite as satisfying and heart-filling as a 
college yell to roistering students. 

Pan blushed furiously when Clay introduced the 
two officers and their heels clicked together as they 
saluted her. If they were surprised that he was married 
the expression on their faces did not betray it. It was 
rather one of frank admiration, for even the phlegmatic 
Nanak Singh marvelled at her beauty. 

“ It is absolutely the happiest moment of my life 
to be permitted to meet you,” Gridley declared, and the 
Sikh salaamed very low. 

“ An honor, memsahib,” he said. 

“ An’ me, I am ver’ happee myself” she timidly 
replied, “ an’ I t’ink I shall lik’ yo’ ver’ much.” 

“A cute little package,” Gridley told himself as 
they crossed to Watkins who had been quite forgotten 
in the excitement of the meeting. Both officers shook 
hands with him. 

“ From what I hear, you can thank Johnny Craig 
for the extreme pleasure that you feel at seeing us,” 
Gridley exclaimed with a, laugh. “ That appendix of 
yours, or whatever it was, has kept me in the very divil 
of a pickle. I got your wireless, and expected another. 
Couldn’t understand why I didn’t get it. Peeved me a 


SOLDIERS THREE 


281 

bit! Wanted action—and a lot of it. So I hunted up 
Nanak Singh, and we argued old Bangg into a leave of 
absence. You see, I wasn’t sure that you could induce 
our Johnny here to come back, but now, with the three 

of us-” he turned to Clay who was lost in thought. 

“ Oh, we understand that it will take some little time 
for you to settle up your affairs, so we intend to sponge 
on you for a week or two, and then—you’ll come back 
with us, surely? We want you back. Your old regi¬ 
ment wants you. It’s due the army that it be given a 
chance to square itself. You can’t refuse for it’s all 
arranged—the King’s pardon, and all that.” 

Clay snapped out of his reverie. 

“ The King’s pardon? ” he exclaimed in amazement. 

“ For running away! The Judge Advocate General 
couldn’t hurdle that technicality, but the King was 
gracious. Oh, we became quite ‘ pally,’ and he issued 
a pardon.” 

All the injustice that Clay had suffered came back 
in a flood, and his face flamed with a passion that he 
found hard to control. 

“ What a silly quibble! ” he contemptuously ex¬ 
claimed. “ The King should ask for mine! ” 

“ But John, don’t-” 

Clay’s laugh was bitter, biting in its sarcasm. 

“ The crowning insult—a pardon! ” 

Gridley was plainly distressed, and turned helplessly 
to Nanak Singh, but the Sikh ventured no word, nor 
did Watkins. It was Pan who broke the tension. She 
sensed that Clay was disappointing men who were his 
staunchest friends, men who had done something very 



282 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


wonderful for him, and, while it was all quite past 
her comprehension, anyone who did anything for her 
John Clay was a “ ver’ good feller,” and she didn’t 
want him “ to be sorree wiz heemsel’.” She placed 
a hand on Clay’s arm, looking up into his face, and' 
struggling for a word to quiet the storm. 

“ Pere Lauren’, heem say—forgives dose zat do 
us—so—so heem can do us some more she said, sen- 
tentiously, “ mebbe, zat ees more better for yo’, my 
John Clay.” 

Clay’s arm went around her shoulders and he drew 
her to him. So this was his little peacemaker—this girl 
of the waterfront that his ignoble impulse had almost 
made an instrument of murder, whose crooning over a 
sick man had saved him from the brand of Cain. If 
these men—Gridley, Nanak Singh, Watkins—only 
knew! What would they say? Would they still be 
his friends? Would they want him to come back? 
And if he went back what would there be for him in 
India but bitter memories, and here—here was peace, 
and atonement. It was some moments before he could 
trust himself to speak. 

“ My good friends,” he finally said, “ do not think 
that I am insensible of your loyalty, or ungrateful for 
the great things that you have done for me. But this 
day has been an eventful one, and I have been under 
a great strain. Let us not discuss this matter now. 
There is much more to be considered than you think— 
some things even that I could not tell you. Let us 
leave the answer until—tomorrow. Let us be merry 
that we have met again.” 


CHAPTER III 


THE MOMENT SUPREME 

Again the City of Bombay lay just outside the 
lagoon. Inside the reef the Lark rode at anchor. 
Aboard one was the confusion of moving freight and 
the embarking and disembarking of passengers, and the 
only sign of life aboard the other was Fung Shui lean¬ 
ing idly across the rail. Behind a rock that sheltered 
him from the sun, Hayes lay half sprawled, his eyes 
following Poni who was rowing Captain Watkins to 
the steamer in the small boat. 

It is a short road from a comfortable berth to the 
fate of a beachcomber in the coral seas, but a long road 
back, and seldom traversed. A short week had played 
havoc with Hayes. A faded calico shirt and a pair 
of dirt-encrusted dungarees, even more tattered than 
the shirt, had been the “ boot ” of a commercial transac¬ 
tion with Tahiti Tom in which his good clothing had 
been sacrificed for liquor and drugs. A pair of rude 
sandals of cocoanut coir and a weather-beaten straw hat 
that looked as if it had been- trodden in mud by nothing 
less than an elephant, had been “ thrown in ” by the 
generous Chinaman who had ultimately “ thrown out ” 
the recipient of his charity as soon as liquor and drugs 
were gone and Hayes had become importunate. 

Nature certainly frolics with mortals who defy her, 
and whether or no it took her a hundred or so thousand 

283 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


284 

of years to raise man up from the ape, she can, if given 
reasons, skid him apeward in less time than it takes her 
to pop the moon from a quarter to a half. She was 
certainly doing her best with Hayes. That part of his 
face that was not covered with the scraggy blotch of a 
two weeks’ growth of beard was the color of earth; 
his hair was a tangled mop, his eyes were cavernous, 
and were contracted to pinpoints that glittered fever¬ 
ishly; his shoulders were hunched up in a vain effort 
to offset the chills that racked through him despite the 
heat of the day, and face, hands, and limbs twitched 
convulsively as nerves viciously clamored for the Thing 
that now stood between him and oblivion. Now and 
then he would tightly close his eyes and, after a 
moment, open them again and stare uncertainly out at 
the two vessels and the small boat, for his eyes had 
been playing him strange tricks that morning, picturing 
many things that did not exist, and fooling him so often 
that he wondered if he was going crazy. 

A blast of the whistle of the City of Bombay 
announced her departure, and he laughed with relief— 
he could still trust his ears. He scrambled to his feet 
and shouted a curse at the Lark —an obscene one that 
was emphasized with a shaking fist. But even this 
rage was a flash in the pan, for presently he was 
vacantly staring about, pondering over the one problem 
that was left to him—what to do when there was noth¬ 
ing to do, and where to go when one place was as 
dreary as another. Mechanically he turned toward 
Tahiti Tom’s, forgetting that but the day before he 


THE MOMENT SUPREME 285 

had been thrown bodily into the roadway and warned 
to keep his filthy person out of the Chinaman’s “ honor¬ 
able abode.’’ 

When Hayes entered Tahiti Tom’s he would have 
gone right out again if the Chinaman had had his way, 
for, despite his squealing protests, he had been spun 
around by the Magyar, and Tom was hurrying to pro¬ 
vide the aperture to throw him through. But the line 
of projection was rudely interrupted by “ G’rilla ” 
Bagsley, who neatly clipped the Magyar behind the ear 
with baffling unexpectedness, and, while Tom and the 
“ Duchess ” fanned the bartender back to consciousness, 
placed a protecting arm around Hayes and led him 
to the table at which he had been sitting with several 
of his cronies. 

“ T’ think thet a blarsted furriner ’ud lay a paw on 
a friend o’ mine, a puffect gentl’man like Mister 
Hayes! ” he roared, with a broad wink at the others, 
who lost no time in expressing their own indignation 
with many oaths and mighty thumps upon the table. 
One of the men filled a mug to the brim with raw gin 
and shoved it toward the derelict. 

“ Lush up,” he said, “ that’ll put heart in yuh, an’ 
from ther looks of yuh, yuh sure need it.” 

For some time “ G’rilla ” and his cronies had been 
discussing a very important business proposition. It had 
to do with a much desired revenge for which Bagsley 
hungered as a partial payment for a sound thrashing that 
he had received several weeks before, and it held the 
additional promise of considerable pecuniary benefit— 


286 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


not only in money, but in a collection of pearls of great 
value—provided conjectures turned into realities. The 
only thing lacking in an otherwise effective and fool¬ 
proof plan was a knowledge of a means of quick entry 
into that house on the paepae bae, and the exact location 
of the loot. Championship of the “ down and outer ” 
was no part of “ G’rilla ” Bagsley’s code of social 
ethics. His interruption of the Chinaman’s bouncing 
programme had been purely selfish. The opportune 
arrival of Hayes promised a happy solution of 
these problems. 

Hayes grasped the mug and raised it to his lips, but 
set it back untasted, and motioned it away. 

“ I don’t want that” he grumbled, and nervously 
rubbed a forearm. Bagsley grinned understanding^. 

“ Want dope, eh? Out of it? ” 

“Yes—and God, how I need it! I’m in agony! 
This yellow hound got all my money—all my clothes, 
too—and then refused me credit—threw me out!” 
His hope mounted. Perhaps Bagsley might be induced 
to go still further in the role of Good Samaritan. 

“ Lend me some money, will you? I’ll pay it back 
sure,” he added eagerly. “ I’ll give you—big interest— 
double it! Please—please! ” 

But “ G’rilla ” ignored the outstretched palm. 

“ So ther Sphinx fired yuh? ” 

“ No—I quit! Will you-” 

Bagsley slowly filled a foul-smelling pipe from the 
contents of a dirty pouch, pursing his lips as he rammed 
the tobacco into the bowl. His digging of a match 



THE MOMENT SUPREME 


287 


out of his pocket, close inspection of its business end, 
and final scratching of it across the top of the table 
was quite as aggravating as deliberate. With a noisy 
sucking he finally succeeded in lighting the pipe. Puf¬ 
fing huge clouds of smoke ceilingward, he screwed his 
eyes together in a ferocious scowl as if Hayes’ request 
was a brain twister of the nth degree. Hayes waited 
for his decision in a torment of suspense, while 
“ G’rilla’s ” cronies leered from one to the other with 
no effort to hide their keen enjoyment of the pathetic 
importunity of the one and the drollish affectation of 
the other. Finally Bagsley shook his head. 

“ No—no! Can’t be did! Make it a rule never t’ 
lend no money,” he said, “ —loses friends fer a feller, 
—an’ I jis’ can’t afford t’ lose yuh,” he turned to his 
cronies. “ I leaves it t’ yuh—could I afford t’ lose 
the friendship o’ Mister Hayes? ” 

They emphatically agreed with him. Of course 
they were sorry for Mister Hayes, but a rule was a rule, 
and nobody could blame Mister Bagsley. Hayes 
slumped despondently back in his chair. After a few 
more reflective puffs, “ G’rilla ” nudged the fellow next 
to him, and again gave a significant wink. 

“ Any money cornin’ t’ yuh ? ” he asked. 

This sounded encouraging, and Hayes snapped 
upright. 

“A lot! He owed me—a huge sum,” he lied 
glibly, “—didn’t stop to get it,—I—I was in a hurry. 
But as soon as I do—as soon as I do-” 



288 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


“ He’s a purty rich feller,” “ G’rilla ” interrupted. 

i “ I’ll betcha he’s got a heap o’ th’ rhino-” 

“ He has! In his strong box—thousands in money 
—and pearls, too! He’s rich, rich, I tell you—and 
how did he get it? My brains, mine! Every soumar- 
ques he’s got I made for him! ” His outburst passed 
into a garrulous babbling of vain boasting and idle 
threats, and his voice rose to such a pitch that Bagsley 
clapped a hand over his mouth to silence him. 

“’Sh! Keep yuhr gab down,” he growled. 
“ D’yuh want all creation t’ hear yuh? Now flap yuhr 
ears t’ me! Yuh’d like t’ finger some of thet cush, 
wouldn’t yuh—an’ git a share o’ those pearls? ” 

Hayes wearily shook his head. 

“ It’s no use thinking about that.” 

“ But if we could make it easy fer yuh? ” 

Hayes stared at him for several moments, quite 
uncertain that Bagsley was serious. He wet his 
lips nervously. 

“ How? ” he finally asked. 

Bagsley cast a wary glance around to satisfy him¬ 
self that there were no cocked ears in close proximity 
to them, then lowered his voice. 

" Yuh kin show us the best way inter th’ house, an’ 
jis where this ’ere strong box is what yuh are a talkin’ 
about, can’t yuh? Now, suppose we drop in there— 
say t’night, late, eight o’ us, countin’ yuh? Yuh lead 
th’ way t’ th’ strong box— that’s all! It’ll be share an’ 
share alike, ceptin’ th’ big pear pearl he’s got—an’ th’ 
girl! I want her —they both come t’ me ’cause I fur- 



THE MOMENT SUPREME 289 

nish th’ schooner, understand? Now, jis between 
friends, what d’yuh say? ” 

Hayes’ expression was one of bewildered indecision. 
Not that he quibbled over sharing another man’s prop¬ 
erty, but he was chary of possible consequences. He 
revered his own skin, and Clay would fight. What then? 

“You’d murder Clay?” he whispered hoarsely, 

“ Who— me? Why Mister Hayes, how could yuh 
think it? ” “ G’rilla ” appeared to be deeply hurt by 
the imputation. “ Why I’ll treat him like me very 
own twin brother! ” 

Still Hayes hesitated, for another possibility had 
occurred to him. 

“We’d be caught! ” he objected. 

“ Leave thet t’ me! Yuh ain’t dotty about these ’ere 
parts, are yuh? Ain’t yuh git nary ambishun? D’yuh 
want t’ die out there on th’ beach ? How long 
d’yuh think yuhr a goin’ t’ last, huh? Why yuhr 
damn near buzzard fodder now! Chip in on this ’ere 
an’ what’ll yuh git—a wad o’ rhino thet ’ud choke a 

whale, an’-,” he leaned across the table with the 

clinching argument, "an’ hop too! Yuh could squirt 
a gallon o’ th’ stuff in yuh whenever yuh minded. 
Now, if yuh was reasonable —if yuh was reasonable —I 
might, as friend t’ friend, mind yuh—git yuh a little 
shot now.” 

Bagsley had cast the winning card. 

“Now! Will you?” Quick!” Hayes exclaimed 

eagerly. 

19 


290 PANDORA LA CROIX 

But “ G’rilla ” was again scowling in ferocious 
meditation. 

“Now ain’t thet a damn shame,” he finally growled. 
“’Ere me good feelin’s is a runnin’ away with me 
brains. Why, don’t yuh see, Mister Hayes, ’tain’t 
business a payin’ fer a thing ’fore she’s done—now is 
it? But I’ll tell yuh what I’ll do. As soon as we’re 
aboard, an’ say half way there, yuh’ll git it.” 

“ No, now! Now! I’ll go, honest, I prom¬ 
ise you! ” He was almost hysterical in his plead¬ 
ing. “But give it to me now! I’m in agony! You 
don’t know how a fellow suffers when he can’t get 
it! For God’s sake! ” 

Bagsley sadly shook his head. 

“ I dunno! Seems kinder foolish o’ me—but I’m 
soft hearted, allers was mushy, an’ I’ll leave it t’ our 
pals ’ere,” he turned to them, “ what say, fellers? ” 

His wink was a signal and, of course, they shook 
their heads. He turned to Hayes with a grimace 
of disappointment. 

“ Yuh see ’ere th’ cuss o’ partnership, “ he said 
with a gloomy shake of his head. “ ’Ere yuh an’ me is 
plum’ out-voted. I’m damn sorry, Mister Hayes 

but-” his face crooked into a conciliatory grin, “ we 

jis can’t quarrel with ’em, now kin we? ” 

Hayes mouth twisted into an oath but stopped when 
he saw the ugly frown on Bagsley’s face. He tried to 
raise from his chair, to get away from them, but if he 
had been roped to his seat he would not have been 
more powerless, so thoroughly was he in the thrall of 


THE MOMENT SUPREME 


291 


the sardonic magnetism of the ruffian who leered across 
the table. He blinked desperately as a relief from the 
steady drilling of “ G’rilla’s ” eyes, and his mouth 
dropped ajar. “ G’rilla ” laughed, and so did the 
others. Perhaps they saw the joke; he couldn’t. From 
that time he did what he was told, weakly and trem¬ 
bling. He found what solace he could in the thought of 
his share of the loot, and the things that he would do— 
particularly that delayed trip to China and the States. 
“ Castles in the Air ” Bagsley could have told him, 
for there wasn’t the least intention that he should 
benefit a farthing’s worth. 

They gave him no chance to get out of their 
clutches, but led him to the wharf and aboard 
“ G’rilla’s ” filthy little two-master. When the moon 
had dropped from sight, sail was raised and the vessel 
eased noiselessly out of the lagoon—but Hayes soon 
found that his hour of Elysium had been postponed 
despite his whimpering protests. He would get his 
drug when the job was done, “ G’rilla ” decreed, and 
profanely advised him to “ go through clean ” or “a 
squirt o’ th’ stuff ” wouldn’t be lingering on his mind 
to any extent whatsoever. 

Like a faint blur in the darkness of the night, the 
schooner finally came to anchor just beyond the reef. 
There was no time lost in piling into the long boat, and 
they put off for the shore with oars cutting soundlessly 
into the water. They drove the boat along at the speed 
of a mere drift, hugging close to the cliff, and manag¬ 
ing by careful manouvring to keep well out of the 
glare of the beacon on the gates. 


292 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


They were within a half dozen boat lengths of the 
beach when, with startling suddenness, the mournful 
howl of a dog split through the night air. It was 
unearthly, repeated again and again, and chorused by 
the hills. Oars instantly struck the water in a backward 
stroke that jerked the boat to a standstill. If it had 
not been for “ G’rilla’s ” paw clamping across Hayes* 
jaws the derelict would have shrieked in his terror. 
The raiders stared from one to the other with mouths 
lolling, the perspiration dripping from their faces yet 
chilled to the heart, looking for all the world like so 
many ghouls frightened by the shriek of a banshee. 
Some were stunned into silence, others shook their 
heads in superstitious awe, and it required all of 
Bagsley’s tact and whispered persuasion to prevent 
them from whirling the boat about and speeding back 
to the schooner. Even his nerve had been sorely 
shaken, much as he tried to hide it, and, as they pushed 
forward, his eyes flitted apprehensively about in an 
effort to pierce the shadows, wary of the unseen Thing 
that the howl presaged. They finally drove the boat 
upon the beach and, finding the gates locked, they were 
guided by Hayes around the compound wall in the 
direction of the cascade. Here the rocks gave a rather 
uncertain foothold to an elevation even with the top 
of the wall, from which it was comparatively easy to 
drop down into the garden. 

Fung Shui had been up to the native village visiting 
Old Chief Takao. He had stayed rather later than 


THE MOMENT SUPREME 


293 


usual, which he considered quite excusable, for he had 
been royally entertained with the choicest of the old 
fellow's repertoire of folk tales, and had drunk many 
soothing draughts of palm wine that had just the delec¬ 
table twang that suited his fastidious taste. He might 
have been a little bit uncertain on his feet as he made 
his way homeward, but his ears were still substantially 
dependable, and, when he caught the unusual sound of 
oars dipping over-care fully into the water, he hastened 
forward to investigate. He reached the edge of the 
clearing just in time to see the raiders’ boat slide up on 
the beach and the men leap out. He counted eight of 
them as they stood grouped before the gates like so 
many silhouettes against the lighter background, and 
when they glided noiselessly around the corner of the 
wall, it struck him that there was something very famil¬ 
iar about the black splotch that guided them. A hiss 
issued from between the Chinaman’s teeth, or it might 
have been a man’s name much as a snake would say it, 
and he whirled about and raced back to the village. 

“ G’rilla ” Bagsley had carefully planned the raid. 
First the loot was to be noiselessly secured, the greatest 
care being taken not to awaken the inmates of the 
house. This seemed easy, for Hayes had told him that 
the doors leading into the living-room were never 
locked, the compound wall being considered ample pro¬ 
tection. When the strong box was safely aboard the 
long boat, Clay and Fung Shui were to be “ put out of 
the way,” and the girl seized, after which the Lark 
was to be driven on to the reef to prevent pursuit by 


294 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


the natives and to delay the knowledge of the crime 
reaching the French commissioner. The one flaw in 
an otherwise fool-proof plan was his ignorance of the 
presence in the house of a supervaliant ressaldar major 
and a fire-eating colonel of the British Army—and, 
besides, the wisest sometimes make mistakes even as he 
did when he decided, despite the emphatic protests of 
his companions, to make a slight change in his original 
programme, and devote his attention to the immediate 
securing of the girl. So, while Hayes guided the others 
into the living-room, he crept around the paepae bae 
to the window of Pan’s room. Here he found a 
balky screen and became impatient—which was an¬ 
other mistake. 

Awakened by the noise of ripping window screen¬ 
ing and the thud of “ G’rilla’s ” boots as he slid across 
the sill, Pan sat bolt upright in bed. Even in the 
darkness of the room she recognized the ape-like bulk 
of the intruder, and uttered a cry of alarm. He snarled 
a threat as he lurched toward her, “ to snuff her light 
out ” if she uttered another sound, and it was only 
when his hands had almost gripped her that she found 
strength enough to leap from the bed and dart for the 
door leading to the living-room. He quickly headed 
her off and snatched for her, but her nightdress ripped 
in the grip of his hand and, tearing loose, she dodged 
under his arm and retreated to the further end of the 
room, frantically trying to slide the heavy dresser 
between them. 

At the touch of her young body, the slipping of 


THE MOMENT SUPREME 


295 


satiny flesh under his fingers, his blood flamed with 
an unconquerable passion for the instant gratification 
of which he would have gambled not only his chances 
for profit, but even the lives of his companions. The 
contour of her half-nude body had become clearly out¬ 
lined as his eyes became accustomed to the dark, and 
they snapped with anticipation, his breath coming in 
labored gasps and his lips hanging loose and wet. He 
promised himself a rare treat, and a most ample revenge 
as soon as he could get his hands upon her. Money 
and pearls, even danger to himself, were forgotten in 
the mad desire for the woman. 

“ Yuh needn’t look fer yuhr friend Sphinx,” he 
snorted triumphantly, “ he’s bein’ ’tended to, me 
purty one! ” 

If he expected an answer he was disappointed. She 
had quite recovered her wits, her spirit of combative¬ 
ness, and mutely eyed him, her fingers twisting ner¬ 
vously in the obi that lay across the dresser top. 

“ Might jis as well give up,” he went on, “ when 
I’m wild, I’m wild , an’ what I wants, I gits, spite o’ 
hell. An’ when it’s a cute little heifer like— Huh! I 
got yuh! ” 

But he hadn’t. He had been advancing very slowly 
as he was speaking. He was even congratulating him¬ 
self that he had so terrorized her that she was failing 
to notice that he was drawing nearer. As he came 
within arms-length his hand shot out. But, much to 
his surprise, she wasn’t there at all. She was on the 
bed—an end of the obi in each hand, and whirling it 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


296 

into the semblance of a rope. As he lurched toward 
her, she swung the loop over his head so quickly that 
he was undone before he realized his predicament. A 
lightning twist or two, and a perfect noose encircled 
his neck so tightly that his eyes popped and his tongue 
shot out between his teeth. With his neck as a fulcrum, 
and clinging tightly to the ends of the obi, she para¬ 
chuted out of the bed to the floor behind him with 
such momentum and force, plus the weight of her body, 
that he was jerked backward, his neck bones fairly 
snapping under the strain. As he sprawled on the 
floor she spat contemptuously at him. 

“ I get me my John Clay,” she angrily exclaimed. 
“ Yo’ will fin’ heem ees one more cute littlV heifair 
as me, by golly! ” 

She whirled for the living-room, leaving him madly 
digging at the obi and squeaking a loquacious jargon 
of complaints and curses. 

Pan’s scream as “ G’rilla ” had slid through her 
window had aroused Clay. He hastily drew on a 
dressing gown and started to investigate. When he 
entered the living-room he caught the reflection of a 
flashlight, and saw several men lugging the heavy 
strong box toward the doors leading to the veranda. 
He quickly seized the fowling gun from its place on 
the pegs and, covering them, shouted a crisp order for 
them to drop the box and throw up their hands. It 
was instantly obeyed, but Hayes, who had been hugging 
close to the wall, leaped for his back, screaming to them 
to come to his aid. As they rushed toward him Clay 


THE MOMENT SUPREME 


297 


gripped the fellow by the neck and, giving a mighty 
hunch of his shoulders, hurled him over his head and 
half-way across the room. They were desperately close 
and raging like so many wolves when he again raised 
the gun and pulled the trigger—but the hammer only 
snapped on an empty shell. He instantly realized that 
he had neglected to reload it the day that Pan had 
wrecked most of the contents of the cabinet and, club¬ 
bing the weapon, he swung it viciously in an effort to 
beat off the raiders. 

A superstitious one would have thought it a charge 
of the ghostly vehinehae if he had caught sight of the 
leaping shadows that came rushing down the path that 
led from the native village to the compound. They 
came with the onrush of a raging blizzard, yet sound¬ 
lessly save the swishing pad of naked feet and the 
whistling breath of men and women coming at top 
speed. Leading them was Fung Shui with an ugly 
knife, and old Takao carrying a war club that was a 
century old, and there was Poni, too, and he was armed, 
and so were the others, with clubs, and axes, and cocoa- 
nut knives, and some with only a stick that had been 
hurriedly caught up, but all-too-sufficient when swung 
by a muscular arm. And there was desperate need of 
them in the big house on the paepae bae. 

As Pan came running from her room, she saw 
Clay go down under the onrush of raiders. Screaming 
for help, she darted frantically toward the room occu¬ 
pied by Nanak Singh and Colonel Gridley, but she had 
barely reached it when the door was flung open and 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


298 

they rushed out, instantly leaping to Clay’s assistance. 
Bagsley had burst out of Pan’s room with the roar of 
a frenzied bull and leaped forward to intercept them, 
but Pan seized a chair and skidded it in front of him. 
Despite his frantic dodging, his legs became hopelessly 
entangled and he pitched headlong to the floor. The 
next instant she was astraddle his back, her fingers 
entwined in his hair, and smashing his face on the 
floor with the thudding rhythm of a pile-driver. 

Clay was now on his feet and he and the two officers 
were employing every aggressive tactic of the football 
field. It was tackle and rush, pound and flail, Nanak 
Singh cracking two of the ruffians’ heads together until 
they had permanently resigned from any further belli¬ 
cose activities, and Colonel Gridley administering an 
anaesthetic to another with a mighty clip of the gun- 
stock. In this melee, this battle-torn room of broken 
furniture and shredded hangings, through every door 
and window, natives came pouring with a yell, and it 
was all that Clay could do to prevent the total annihila¬ 
tion of the raiders. Those that remained on their feet 
were driven into a corner, and Bagsley and two others 
that were hors de combat were unceremoniously flung 
after them. 

In the confusion Hayes had managed to eliminate 
himself. Unnoticed he had crawled across the floor 
to a desk and, dragging himself to his feet, was fum¬ 
bling in one of the drawers. Suddenly he whirled 
about, his eyes blazing with fury. He had gripped an 
automatic in his hand, and aimed it at Clay with a string 


THE MOMENT SUPREME 


299 


of curses. Pan, with a scream, rushed between the two. 
Then came the explosion, and she crumpled to the floor 
at the instant that a knife, hurled by Fung Shui, 
cut the air and buried itself in Hayes’s breast. He 
sprawled backward over the desk, clutching at the hilt 
of the weapon. Natives, raiders, stood spellbound. In 
the intense silence Clay raised the girl in his arms, his 
face drawn in a great grief. She began to laugh, and 
he looked down at her in amazement, believing for the 
moment that she was unharmed. 

“ Zis ees one ver’ beeg-g joke on yo’,” she said, 
“ for I jus’ wan’t’ be in yo’ arms.” 

But her face grew very white, and her little body 
trembled under a spasm of pain, the laugh dying on 
her lips. A crimson stain flamed on the breast of her 
robe. He could do nothing for her; she was dying. 
She weakly placed a hand on each of his cheeks. 

“ Am I—a ladee—now, my John Clay? ” she asked, 
wistfully. 

His choking answer brought an expression pf 
ineffable joy to her face. 

“Zat ees—ver’ good! She didn’t tak’ ver’ long 
tim’, did she? ” Her eyes closed and she nestled back 
in his arms. “ I t’ink zat—I am ver-r tire’, me,” she 
finally faltered. 

He carried her into his own room, and laid her on 
the bed, kneeling down and taking her hand in his. 
For a moment she lay very quiet, then her eyes opened 
and she stared, wonderingly, about her. Slowly came 
the realization that the one great happiness denied her 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


300 

was hers at last—her “stiff cat” had been honored! 
Two red spots flamed on her cheeks. He felt a slight 
pressure of her hand, and bent close to hear what she 
was saying. 

“ I—I am ver-r happee wiz mysel’,” she whispered, 
“ mebbe—yo’ wil hoi’ me ver-r close? ” 

He drew her to him, gently, tenderly, fearful that 
he hurt her. 

“ Now eet ees—all fix’,” she whispered again, and 
this time it was like a mere breath. “ Yo’ are ver-r 
good t’ me, my John Clay.” 

A few minutes later he appeared in the doorway. 
They saw that questions were useless, for his lips were 
trembling, and his eyes were moist. For some time 
he stood there, seemingly oblivious of their presence, 
and staring into space. Then came a sagging of his 
shoulders, and his head dropped forward on his breast. 
Wearily he motioned for them to clear the. room. 


CHAPTER IV 


EPILOGUE 

John Clay still lives on that South Sea island. 
Loyalty to the friends who had been so loyal to him 
had impelled him to journey to India where he had 
been restored to his rank in the army, but he had imme¬ 
diately resigned and returned to his people. Some 
years have passed since then and, although his hair is 
grayer, they have dealt with him most kindly. He is 
quite a different Clay now—the name of the Sphinx, 
his taciturnity, his aggressiveness among men, and his 
fierce hatreds, are no longer stories of the moment but 
reminiscences of the past. There is no gloom, no 
brooding silence in the big house on the paepae bae, for 
Colonel Jim Gridley, retired, is a member of the house¬ 
hold and, where he is, there is ever a healthy exhilarat¬ 
ing noise, and Watkins is there, too, ill health having 
driven him out of the service. 

Pan lies upon the cliff where she danced for her 
John Clay. The place is taboo now, sacred to the 
natives. In spirit she has danced for him many times 
since then, and given him “ a nice soft sit,” and decor¬ 
ated his place at table with flowers from the garden 
and—has sung that lullaby. He will tell you that she 
is very much alive and ever by his side, an elfin spirit 
keeping love in his heart, and she will never be dead to 
him until he, too, has started on his journey across 
the Styx. 


301 


302 


PANDORA LA CROIX 


Across the dining table, and facing him, is ever a 
chair, her chair, and a glass turned down, and, although 
the idea may amuse you, he really sees her there. And 
when the twilight steals over the hills, and the crimsons 
and blues fade from the waters, and the fire dies out 
of the coral in the reef, Old Fung Shui comes to his 
kitchen door and stands like a veteran at attention while 
the three men raise their glasses in a standing toast to 
“ Our Little Lady.” 

THE END 



























































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